


Law and Disorder

by RedZipBoots



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedZipBoots/pseuds/RedZipBoots
Summary: Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry find themselves stranded in unfamiliar territory with a lawman.





	1. Chapter 1

The harsh grating of metal against metal was a sound that always made Hannibal Heyes grimace, especially when it was the key to a jail cell. 

Last night had been long and tedious, much the same as the one before and several before that. He had lain awake until the small hours trying to work out a plan that would see him and his partner, Kid Curry out of these cages, onto fast horses, and as far from Bonneville as they could get. 

Bonneville was, in Kid's own words, "a likeable town". The beds at the hotel had clean sheets, there were no signs of fleas or bedbugs and the desk clerk didn't ask questions. Two sizeable saloons sold quality liquor and flaunted a plethora of pretty girls, not to mention harbouring poker players of varying abilities, especially Heyes' favourite — "those who don't know the odds against helping two pair". But, probably the best thing about this town was that it had a sheriff and a deputy that neither of them had seen or heard of before.

Heyes was certain the Kid would agree that Bonneville had been the most fun they'd had in quite some time. As a rule, they never allowed themselves to enjoy a place too much; it had a tendency to make them let their guard down which was not a good idea when, despite going straight, staying one jump ahead of the law still remained an almost daily struggle. Sadly, letting their guard down was exactly what they had done but neither realized it until it was too late. That was when Marshal Tiller showed up. 

They had failed to notice the raw-boned figure of the marshal sitting tall in his saddle as he rode into town just as they hadn't seen him enter the busy Bonnie Lass Saloon. As usual, Heyes' attention had been entirely on the poker table and at that very moment he was playing for a particularly large pot, one which he was sure he had a high probability of winning. The Kid, on the other hand, having thrown in his cards was busy getting acquainted with an attractive brunette who had seated herself on his lap and brazenly slipped her hand inside his shirt.

The cold seven-inch barrel of the heavy LeMat revolver as it pressed against the back of Kid Curry's skull had taken the usually vigilant gunman completely unawares. 

At the saloon girl's startled cry Heyes had made one of his own in the form of "Hey, what's all this?" before he noticed the silver star pinned to the tall man's jacket. The gun, together with the uncompromising look in his eye, told the reformed outlaw that any further protest at this moment would be pointless. With a dispirited sigh Heyes tossed in his king-high straight.

The late-night crowd at the Bonnie Lass were a raucous bunch but the cocking of the gun together with the words, "you're both under arrest", appeared to have been heard by most of them. The silence was almost palpable as everyone turned their heads in Heyes' and Curry's direction.

Joining the Kid in raising his hands in the air Heyes slowly got to his feet and wary brown eyes connected with angry blue ones conveying a warning to his occasionally short-fused partner not to do anything foolhardy. During their early days with the Devil's Hole Gang there had been one unforgettable occasion when they had both witnessed the sickening damage a LeMat could inflict, especially at close range and neither was keen to repeat it. Heyes' concern was unfounded as Kid Curry, whose knowledge of firearms was second to none, had immediately recognized the sound of the unique pistol being cocked and had no intention of doing anything to make the lawman's finger twitch.

The short walk over to the sheriff's office and jail had been made stony-faced and tight-lipped. It wasn't until they were locked up and Tiller's pistol was safely holstered that Heyes' silver tongue had sprung into action in an attempt to convince the small group of triumphant lawmen that they had, in fact, made a terrible mistake since their names were Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones, a pair of drifters just passing through on their way to Texas.

Much to Heyes' frustration nobody had listened. It didn't seem to make a scrap of difference how many times he had pleaded their innocence, claimed mistaken identity, or angrily railed about injustice against the common man — still nobody listened.

That was a little over two weeks ago. 

The marshal had been smart — much smarter than your average lawman, in Heyes' professional opinion. Aware that his prisoners had a well-deserved reputation for breaking out of jail he had insisted that they were locked up in separate cells right from the start, and not adjacent cells either; Kid was on the other side of the cell block two cells down. Not having been able to put their heads together and quietly plot their escape had put the two ex-outlaws at a distinct disadvantage and so they had barely spoken to one another except to pass the time of day.

To Heyes it appeared that the Kid had done very little apart from sleep, only waking in order to eat the monotonous, unappetizing food or to read a page or two of a newspaper or tattered dime novel. By contrast he had hardly slept, eaten little, and read everything he could lay his hands on. When he wasn't doing that, Heyes had endlessly paced his cell trying to come up with a plan, his irritation mounting when it became obvious that unless something unexpected happened that they could turn to their advantage, there was not going to be any breakout. 

Reclining on the thin, grubby mattress of his cot, for the last half hour Heyes had listened to the tense murmur of voices coming from the office. While he couldn't hear all of what was being said, he had caught a word here and there, and it didn't need his kind of genius to fill in the gaps. 

The dissonant grating sound continued as the door to his cell swung open. 

"C'mon Heyes, on your feet."

"The name's Smith," intoned Heyes, automatically. 

"I said, get up!"

Heyes opened one eye and squinted at the man standing in the doorway. "Bit on the early side, ain't it, Sheriff?" 

Propping himself up on one elbow the former outlaw leader ignored the revolver in the sheriff's hand. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you could make this quick, I've got a pretty full schedule today," he said, flippantly.

A snort came from under a brown hat in the other occupied cell.

"Don't sass me, Heyes. The papers arrived yesterday."

A questioning eyebrow was raised. "What papers?" 

"Your extradition papers." Sheriff Matt Crowle was eager to get Marshal Tiller's two prisoners out of his jail and on their way to the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Bonneville's jail was more commonly populated by drunks and petty crooks and having two notorious outlaws incarcerated here for two weeks had been a responsibility he didn't welcome, especially when he had no claim to the bounty on their heads. 

"Look, I already told you a thousand times... you've got it all wrong. We're not that pair of miserable desperados, we're just—"

"I don't wanna hear it. C'mon, get up. You're going for a little ride." 

"Oh?" Getting to his feet Heyes tried not to sound too interested but if they were being transported on horseback there might be a chance, however slight....

"In a stagecoach. Don't go getting any ideas now; you'll be wearing these the whole time."

Young Deputy Gibb jangled a handful of metal as he entered the cell. "Turn around, hands behind your back."

Heyes closed his eyes and allowed his shoulders to sag in defeat as handcuffs were snapped around his wrists. Gibb then proceeded to bolt a set of leg-irons around the prisoner's sock-clad ankles.

"Aww, come on, Sheriff! No boots?"

"Uh-uh. Any gripin' from you and you can go barefoot. See how you like them irons diggin' into your bare ankles."

Heyes cast a sullen look at the man with the gun and sat back down on the edge of his cot while the two lawmen turned their attention to his partner.

Sheriff Crowle's booted foot prodded Kid's leg. "I know you ain't sleepin', Curry. Up!"

With the smallest of movements Kid Curry's forefinger pushed the brim of his hat away from his eyes. A quick glance over to Heyes' cell was all he needed and, noting his partner's grim expression, knew there was nothing for it but to stand so that identical handcuffs and leg-irons could be locked in place.

Gibb pushed the brown hat firmly on the blond curls before steering the prisoner out of the cell. Kid shuffled along uncomfortably, the short heavy length of chain between his ankles affording him no other choice. As he drew level with Heyes' cell the former leader of the Devil's Hole Gang gave his partner a small shrug of resignation. 

"Move along, Heyes," the sheriff ordered, gesturing with his gun.

"Just one thing, Sheriff." 

"What now?"

"I know you don't want me wearing boots but I would kinda like to wear my hat." Heyes nodded toward the end of his cot. "So...would you mind?" Sheriff Crowle snatched up the shabby black hat and plonked it askew on Heyes' head. 

Marshal Tiller, along with his two deputies Hegan and Mitchell, were waiting in the office. All three were armed with rifles as well as pistols. They watched carefully as Deputy Gibb re-arranged the handcuffs so that Heyes was securely attached to Marshal Tiller and the Kid to Deputy Mitchell. 

Now that one of his hands was free Heyes took the opportunity to straighten his hat, the small movement provoking a loud clatter as a variety of weapons were all cocked at the same time. 

Eyebrows raise, the prisoners exchanged a meaningful look; Heyes trying to suppress a smile while Curry blew out his cheeks. 

"Stay alert, gentlemen," said Tiller to his men. He gestured toward the door. "Let's go."

Stepping from the stale, torpid atmosphere of the jailhouse onto the boardwalk and into the cool air of a damp, grey dawn Heyes drew in a deep breath. He glanced up and down the empty main street at the large muddy pools of standing water then up at the overcast sky. A stiff breeze ruffled his navy blue shirtsleeves and he momentarily stiffened his shoulders trying not to shiver. Heyes certainly didn't want any of the men surrounding them to think he might be fearful. 

Getting into the large Concord stagecoach with limited mobility and little assistance was no mean feat for the prisoners, but once they were all on board with Hegan on top riding shotgun beside the driver, Marshal Tiller tipped his hat to Sheriff Crowle and knocked on the roof with his fist. With a loud "Ya-haa!" the driver slapped the reins and the stagecoach lurched forward down the main street. 

It wasn't long before the horses settled into a fast but comfortable pace. The road north was wide and flat but very waterlogged, the stage splashing through large pools of water and the wheels slewing from side to side in the slippery mud.

Looking out of the window on his side of the coach all Hannibal Heyes could see were rolling hills covered in vast swathes of uninteresting pine forest. This appeared to go on for miles and so, as he had already seen all he could stomach of the marshal over the past couple of weeks, he concentrated on observing the young deputy. 

In Heyes' experience, US Marshals mostly employed mature, experienced deputies especially when on the trail of hard-case outlaws like them, but the two he had in his employ right now were relatively young. This led him to the conclusion that being spotted by Marshal Tiller was more a matter of chance; of being in the right place at the right time, or the wrong place, depending on which side of the cell bars you ended up. Deputy Mitchell looked to be in his mid-twenties. He sported a moustache which Heyes couldn't help but liken to a blonde woman's eyebrow and must have taken him quite a while to grow if the strands of pale, sandy-coloured hair poking out from under his hat were anything to go by. He knew how long it took his partner to grow anything resembling a beard or moustache and Kid's blond hair was dark by comparison.

Observing the young man's demeanour Heyes drew the conclusion that this must be Mitchell's first involvement in a high-profile arrest. His grey-blue eyes flitted nervously between him and the Kid and it had taken the man quite a while to relax in his seat and not fidget or keep checking his gun.

For a while Heyes amused himself inventing a brief life story for the deputy but he soon grew bored with this and went back to trying to formulate an escape plan. Half an hour later he broke the silence.

"So, gentleman, where exactly are we headed? I'm guessing Channing. Am I right?" He grinned. "I am, aren't I? It's gotta be Channing; that's the nearest place I figure has a railroad line. We are taking a train, aren't we, one that goes through the mountains?" He shook his head and chuckled. "I sure wish I could have been there when they blasted all that rock to build those tunnels." 

Heyes kept up a continuous flow of chatter hoping to distract the two lawmen and give his partner an opportunity to snatch a handgun from one of their holsters. Kid was well aware of what Heyes was up to, but it didn't take him long to conclude that the heavy shackles around his ankles, not to mention being handcuffed to a deputy, were too many restrictions for his marginally slower left hand to make an effective lunge for a weapon without getting one or both of them killed in the process.

"And the bridges across the ravines!" Heyes continued. "Heck, if we had to go round the mountains it'd sure be a real long trip and—"

"It's gonna be a real short trip for you if you don't shut up," growled Marshal Tiller. "As much as I'm looking forward to seeing you locked up for twenty years, Heyes, I ain't obliged to take you in alive. Understand?"

Heyes put on his best hurt expression. "Sheesh, I was only making conversation, Marshal. Y' see me and Thaddeus we've never been arrested before, or been inside a courthouse, and I guess I'm kinda nervous. I can't speak for him of course but—"

"You're doin' a real good job of tryin', Joshua," interrupted Curry with what Heyes knew to be a fake hard stare to accompany a barely discernible shake of the head. Heyes interpreted the signal correctly and replied with a humourless smile.

With nothing better to do Kid tilted his hat over his eyes and settled down to take a nap. Heyes took a moment to regard his partner with something resembling envy. He had always found sleeping on a stage virtually impossible but the Kid was never disturbed by the constant rocking and jolting. In fact, he never had a problem sleeping anywhere.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Two more hours dragged by before the stagecoach began to slow. 

Marshal Tiller consulted his pocket watch. "Relay station coming up, Mitchell. Stay on your toes."

"Talking of toes," said Heyes, "are you proposing we walk through the mud in our socks?" 

"You're not getting out; not here anyway," the Marshal replied as the driver pulled the sweating horses to a halt. "We're only changing the team. There will be a way station stop in another couple of hours. You can get out there."

Now that great globs of mud were no longer flying past the window Heyes leaned along the seat and stuck his head out, glancing dubiously at the puddles that surrounded the coach. "Sure seems to have been a lot of rain around here." 

"It hasn't stopped pourin' for about a week, Joshua," yawned Kid, having just woken from his nap. He tutted irritably as he went to stretch his arms forgetting his right was still attached to Deputy Mitchell. "Couldn't you hear it fallin' outside the jailhouse window? If'n you could call that grill in the wall a window." 

"I sure hope that doesn't mean the road has been washed out." Heyes couldn't help a sly grin. "We might have to turn around and head all the way back to Bonneville and this little trip will all have been for nothing."

Kid frowned dubiously. "You say that like it's a good thing."

"Beats heading to the territorial prison." 

In no time at all the driver, together with the resident stock-tender, had changed the team and the coach was back on the road. Shortly, a steady rain began to fall from the now iron-grey sky making it necessary for the passengers to unfurl the leather roll-down curtains in order to keep the coach interior dry. Unfortunately, this also kept out most of the daylight that managed to penetrate the thick cloud cover. 

Kid once again tilted his hat over his eyes.

The four fresh horses effortlessly pulled the coach for several miles along a trail which stretched the whole length of a long, steep hogback. A rocky slope with little vegetation towered above them on one side while the other dropped away sharply into a ravine. Soon, rocks of various sizes began to litter the road ahead and the further they went the more the driver slowed the horses until eventually they fell back to only a walk, the amount of debris rendering the trail not much wider than the stagecoach itself. Eventually they ground to a complete halt prompting Marshal Tiller to push the curtain to one side and lean out of the window. 

"Why are we stopping?"

"We're gonna have to clear the way some, Marshal," replied the driver. "There's a whole heap of rocks on the road and I ain't got enough room to safely take the team round them. If I try, we'll bust a wheel for sure."

"Fine. Hegan you get down and help him. Try and get it done quick, will ya?" instructed the marshal. Pulling his head back inside he shook the rain from his hat while looking steadily at the former outlaw leader. "This better not have anything to do with you, Heyes."

"The name is still Smith."

"If that gang of yours is waiting—"

"What gang? There is no gang!" Heyes almost yelled.

"— for us, I have to tell you Deputy Hegan is real handy with that rifle," the marshal continued, ignoring Heyes' outburst. "So if the Devil's Hole Gang have blocked that road to bust you out there's gonna be a massacre and I can guarantee you two will be the first to stop a bullet."

Deputy Mitchell glanced uncertainly from Marshal Tiller to Heyes and back again. He considered himself a fair shot but if it came to a shootout against a whole gang of seasoned outlaws, and that bunch in particular, he wasn't at all confident he would be on the winning side.

Outside the coach Deputy Hegan's boots had only just hit the muddy road when the rain began to fall more heavily and a faint rumble, like that of distant thunder, could be heard. The horses shifted restlessly, whickering to each other as a trail of small pebbles spilled down from the slope above, coming to a stop against their hooves. 

"I hope that weren't thunder. I ain't too partial to thunder and lightnin'," complained Deputy Mitchell, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the wind caught the leather curtain blowing it inwards and showering his legs with large droplets.

"That's enough, Mitchell," growled Tiller. 

The rumble increased in volume and the horses began to whinny and stamp. Both the driver and Hegan glanced around nervously and worked as quickly as they could in the pouring rain in order to clear the rocks and rubble and get the stagecoach moving again.

With a mounting sense of trepidation Heyes reached forward and tapped Kid Curry on the knee with a murmured, "I think we may have another problem."

Responding to his partner's tone rather than his words Kid, who for once wasn't actually sleeping, sat up straight and adjusted his hat. At the same time, Tiller once again stuck his head out of the window and was just about to call to his deputy when several large rocks careered down the slope just missing the lead horses but causing them to rear in panic. The stagecoach creaked and rocked alarmingly as it was pulled forward against the brake. A scattering of loose stones varying in size now followed, bouncing across the road and rattling against the fancy red and gold paintwork. 

"Hegan! Watch out for th—" 

Marshal Tiller didn't get to finish his warning. There was a sickening dull thud and the marshal slumped in his seat, his cuffed hand hanging loosely at his side. Kid and Deputy Mitchell reached forward and helped Heyes heave the marshal back inside and all three men stared aghast at the bloody mess which had once been the right side of his head.

The young lawman looked a little bilious as he croaked, "Is he...?"

Heyes dipped his ear to the man's chest and listened as best he could. "Yep. A rock must have killed him outright." He sent a troubled glance toward his cousin who confirmed Heyes' previous statement, "We've got a problem, alright." 

"We should get out," urged Mitchell.

"Only if you want to end up like him." Kid gestured toward the marshal. "And anyway, how's Joshua supposed to go anywhere shackled to a dead man?"

"We need to get these chains off or none of us will stand a chance," Heyes said, looking earnestly at the deputy. "Where are the keys?"

"I don't know as I should be takin' off your—"

"Don't argue with me. Just do it!" ordered the former outlaw leader, instantly reverting to type under pressure.

Any further protests went unheard as the rumble grew deafening. Kid Curry barely had time to yell "Get down!" before the ground began to tremble and a tide of gravel and rocks slammed into the side of the coach. 

The three men hit the floor. 

Amid the roar of the moving earth all four horses squealed and struggled in vain to free themselves from the harness as they were swept sideways across the road along with the stagecoach, before eventually toppling over the edge of the ravine.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes opened but darkness still enveloped him. The air felt thick with dust, his head ached and he badly wanted to cough, but a weight across his ribs made that impossible. Barely managing to breathe he stayed still for a minute or two blinking slowly and trying to figure out where he was. Then he remembered.... a deafening all encompassing roar, sliding... fear like he had never experienced before, falling... bodies colliding painfully, rolling... until everything went black. 

Trying to suppress the sudden panic at the thought that he could be buried alive under half the mountainside Hannibal Heyes found the strength to push the weight away from his chest. Now that the pressure was eased he could tentatively fill his lungs. He coughed painfully. Attempting to sit up he realized that, although there was feeling in it, he couldn't move one arm and his legs were trapped underneath another dead weight. Dead weight? The Kid had been there too. Oh, no, no....

His heart pounding, Heyes wriggled frantically until his trapped legs came free then he groped around in the dark with one hand eventually coming to rest on a head of dirt-caked curls.

"Jed," he croaked. "Jed, are you okay?" 

The silence that followed only worsened Heyes' fear but he knew that before he could begin to help his partner he had to assess the situation properly and the only way to do that was to get some light in there. Raising his hand above his head he could feel one of the doors thereby confirming what he had guessed — that the stagecoach was resting on its side. Laying down again he pushed upwards with his shackled feet. The door didn't budge but, alarmingly, dirt and gravel began to trickle in through a small gap in the door's window. He tried again several times but without success.

After another bout of painful coughing and a few minutes' rest Heyes gritted his teeth and sat up feeling above him until he came to another window. The leather curtain was hanging loose but instead of the expected texture of cold hard rock he felt something lukewarm and smooth. Instinctively, his hand recoiled. Realizing that what he could feel was horse he concluded that the animal's body must be lying across the side of the coach. No wonder the door wouldn't budge; there was no way he could move a dead horse. 

Heyes' head continued to throb and tentative probing revealed a large lump. Taking a moment to breathe through the discomfort he tried to focus his muzzy and slightly nauseous brain into formulating a strategy to get some light and fresh air in, and he and the Kid out.

Whilst the solid structure of the one-ton Concord stagecoach had probably saved his life, and hopefully that of his partner, he also wanted to curse it because a hole or splintering of some description would come in really useful right now. He concluded that it was up to him to do some damage of his own and the only way he could think of to make a decent sized hole was with a shotgun. Not having one of these he would have to use the next best thing, the LeMat which, along with its nine shot cylinder, featured a secondary barrel capable of firing buckshot.

Recalling that he had been handcuffed to the owner of the unique pistol Heyes' free hand followed his manacled wrist and felt around underneath the body that had covered him, all the while hoping that the gun still remained in its holster. Within minutes his fingers alighted on the large cross-patterned walnut grip. Now he just had to hope that Tiller kept the second barrel loaded.

Although extremely wary of firing any weapon in complete darkness not to mention in such an enclosed space, Heyes figured he didn't have a choice. Praying that this would turn out to be one of his better ideas he held the gun at arm's length, pulled back the hammer and flipped the striker to the position for the second barrel. Aiming carefully at nothing he closed his eyes and fired.

The force of the recoil almost took the heavy pistol out of Heyes' unsteady left hand. His ears rang alarmingly and the smoke from the powder made his eyes and throat sting, but he had achieved what he had set out to do and daylight now streamed through a fair sized gap. He slowly inhaled a breath of fresh air. So far, it appeared that the only real downsides to his actions were muffled hearing and a worrying increase in the flow of dirt pouring in through the window.

Heyes' watering eyes were immediately drawn to the Kid who was sprawled across Deputy Mitchell. He leaned over and shook his partner. "Jed, c'mon. JED!" 

When there was no response he spat out a frustrated oath. There was little he could do whilst wearing these restraints and he had no lock pick with which to undo them. What he needed was a belt, or more precisely, a belt buckle. He had no idea where his belt was; the lawmen at Bonneville had taken both his and the Kid's belts away, along with their rigs and boots the minute they had arrived at the jail. 

Heyes could not recall whether Marshal Tiller had chosen to keep his pants in place with a belt or the often more commonly favoured suspenders but it didn't take him long to find out, letting out a loud "Yes!" as he pulled the leather free.

Talented fingers manipulated the handcuff's lock with the metal prong and he was soon rewarded by a faint but gratifying click. Shaking his hand free Heyes quickly picked the handcuff encircling Kid's wrist. He then turned the unconscious man onto his back and pressed his ear to his chest, breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief at the strong, steady heartbeat. Heyes softly tapped his partner's face a couple of times.

"C'mon, Kid. You need to wake up now."

When there was still no response Heyes slapped him a little harder and, to his relief, Kid's eyelids began to flicker. Seconds later a pair of glassy blue eyes opened and stared up at him.

"Wha...what happened?" Kid rasped, before coughing the dust from his throat and lungs.

"A landslide pushed us clean over the edge. I figure we're at the bottom of the ravine."

"And we ain't dead?"

"Must've got lucky. You hurting anywhere?" 

"I...aaah." In an attempt to sit up the colour drained from Kid's face as it contorted in pain and he grabbed at the top of his left arm. "All over. But my shoulder... hurts... bad." Pulling in great gulps of air Kid momentarily struggled to stay conscious. 

"I can't see any blood on your shirt; maybe you've busted your arm. Meanwhile," Heyes indicated the steady influx of dirt and gravel, "this coach is filling up like an hour glass so we've gotta get out. Is that deputy breathing?

Kid could feel a slight rise and fall of the chest of the man underneath him. "He's breathin' but Heyes, please don't tell me you've come outta this without a scratch," he groaned.

"Well, if it's a list you want... I think I may have cracked a rib, my arm is kinda numb where the marshal was lying on it, there's a lump on the back of my head the size of a goose egg and the stagecoach feels like it's still rolling. But, apart from that I feel great!" Heyes answered testily while threading the marshal's belt through the belt loops of his pants.

"Some jailbreak!" grumbled Kid as, still supporting his arm, he leaned forward and stared groggily at his ankles. "And we ain't gonna get far in these."

"Yeah, they pose a problem alright. I picked the cuffs with this buckle but it won't work on these leg irons. We need to find the key."

"Ain't you looked?"

"I couldn't. I only just got some light in here."

"Huh?"

"I used Tiller's gun to blast that hole." Heyes indicated the splintered wood.

Kid nodded slowly. "That explains why I can't hear so good."

As Heyes attempted to search the marshal's pockets for the key Kid moved aside so that he had access to Deputy Mitchell's pockets. He tried to search the man but each time he let go of his arm the pain was so overwhelming he thought he was going to pass out. Heyes eventually waved him away and took over the search. Still coming up empty he sighed, "Either they didn't bring it with them or it fell out when we rolled."

"Wonderful. Now what?"

"You could make that hole bigger while I try and come up with the answer." 

"I could kick it out some if I was wearin' boots, but I've got enough to deal with here without gettin' splinters in my feet," griped Kid.

"Well, neither of us can wear boots with these shackles on."

"I know that, Heyes. So, how we gonna get them off?!"

Having no answer to his partner's exasperated question Heyes suddenly felt very weary. He slumped down, closed his eyes, and rolling his pounding head from side to side croaked, "I dunno." 

The hopeless tone of his partner's voice worried Kid Curry even more than their current predicament and he was instantly placated. He gave his partner a few minutes to think before he spoke again.

"Heyes?" 

"Uh?"

"You still tryin' to work it out?" 

"Nope. How about you come up with something for a change?"

"Oh, no. You're always telling me that you do all the thinkin' so.... think!"

Heyes heaved a heavy sigh then wrapped an arm around his chest as a flash of pain caught him unawares. "Don't know if I can. I've done nothing but think day and night for the past two weeks; I guess my brain is wore out."

"Pfftt, like that's gonna happen," scoffed the gunman. 

They sat listening to the tinkle of the gravel as it continued to pour in through the window until Kid ventured, "Where's that ol' pistol?"

Still with his eyes closed Heyes groped around, picked up the gun, and waved it aimlessly. "Here." 

"It's still got its pin, ain't it? How about using that?"

Realization shone in Heyes eyes as they sprung open. He quickly pulled out the short locking pin which was thicker and more robust than the buckle prong and after a long couple of minutes of manipulation the leg irons fell away from his ankles.

"Maybe I should let you do the thinking more often, Kid." Heyes grinned as he knelt up and freed his partner. Then he began tugging at the marshal's boots. "And these may just be my size."

With the black leather boots on his feet Heyes rolled onto his back and aimed a few hefty kicks at the splintered wood. There was a loud crack and a good section came away. Crawling through the opening he waited until the outside world stopped lurching back and forth before standing stiffly, trying to ease out his back without causing any more pain in his ribs. He then began busily shaking the dirt from where it had accumulated inside his shirt and henley.

When he turned to look at the stagecoach Heyes could hardly believe his eyes. With the amount of rain that had fallen he would have expected a torrent of mud to have come down that mountain but it appeared that the landslide was made up of a mixture of dry earth and a variety of rocks and, when it had reached the bottom of the ravine, somehow it had continued to push the coach complete with the dead horse on top away from the drop. This had been the fortunate part because, from the size of the mound that had built up, they could easily have been buried. He looked up wondering how far they had fallen but he couldn't see the edge. 

The rain had stopped but the clouds overhead remained grey and threatening and this time Heyes did shiver as a breeze wove its way down the narrow ravine. He guessed that they must have been unconscious for quite some time because sundown didn't appear to be more than a couple of hours away. Already the air temperature was cooling; he would try to get a fire going soon but he and the Kid would still have to find some blankets or a jacket because without them they would get cold very quickly. 

"Here, let me help." Heyes offered a hand as the Kid appeared, attempting to shuffle out of the stagecoach on his backside.

"I'm fine so long as I don't let go of this arm." Headstrong as ever, Kid slowly came to kneeling then stood. "Whoa," he gasped as he found himself swaying.

Despite still being a little dizzy himself Heyes steadied him. "Here, sit on this rock. We probably brought it down with us, might as well use it," he added, flippantly. Then, looking at his partner's pallid face he asked, "You gonna be sick?"

"Don't think so. A little unsteady is all."

"Let me take a look." Heyes started to feel along Kid's injured arm but even the slightest movement elicited a groan from his partner.

"Stop," gasped Kid, breathing heavily. "I don't think my arm's broke. It's my shoulder, again."

Gently unbuttoning the front of Kid's shirt and henley to check along his collar bone Heyes winced as he felt the tell-tale lump under the skin at the front of his partner's shoulder. "Yep. The bone has come out of the socket just like it did when we were dodging that posse after the Redwater job. Lobo put it back in for you, no problem."

"Well, that's brilliant, 'cause I don't see Lobo around here anyplace, do you?"

Heyes understood the reason for Kid's caustic tone. He remembered all too well what his partner had endured that day.

The Kid would be the first to admit he had been very lucky. He had taken an almighty tumble at a flat out gallop after his horse had caught its hoof in a gopher hole, snapping its leg like a twig. Aware that the posse looked to be gaining on them Heyes tossed the bag containing the haul to Wheat, shouting that he was going back for the Kid and for the rest of the gang to continue on to Devil's Hole. Jerking his horse's head around he backtracked, praying that his partner had not broken his neck. Relief flooded over him as he glimpsed a dazed Kid Curry struggling to his feet. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his horse and so Heyes had drawn his Schofield and fired a single shot, putting the poor creature out of its misery. He then pushed his partner up onto his sorrel and, swinging up behind him, urged the already sweating animal away at speed. 

Back in the bunkhouse he and Hank had held Kid down as Lobo manhandled the dislocated joint back into place. In all truthfulness, what Heyes had really wanted to do was cover his own ears and block out the sound of Kid's agony but as leader of the Devil's Hole Gang he knew it would not have been wise to show any sign of weakness; he had enough trouble with Wheat Carlson as it was without fuelling the man's misguided belief that he would make a better leader.

An unexpected rattle of loose stones propelled Kid Curry to his feet while reaching instinctively for the revolver which usually hung at his hip. Unfortunately, this meant leaving his injured arm unsupported — a move he instantly regretted. Deputy Mitchell crawled out of the wreckage a deep laceration on his forehead oozing blood. Heyes had been so concerned for his partner that he had completely forgotten about the deputy and having experienced something that didn't happen too often — namely a stab of guilt — he rushed to the man's assistance, helping him to his feet and slowly leading him away from the rock fall to sit down by a large boulder.

"Thanks, Mister Heyes."

"It's Smi—. Aw, what the heck." Heyes rolled his eyes at the futility of continuing to deny his real identity. "Hold still while I get those cuffs off." Pulling the belt from around his waist he worked the lock then contemptuously tossed the cuffs away. "Apart from that cut are you hurting anywhere else?" 

"My ankle... and my chest. Think it's my ribs," replied Mitchell with a grimace. Heyes had already noticed the man's breathing was a little laboured and after a quick examination he sat back on his heels and nodded in agreement. "A couple of 'em could be broken."

Momentarily ignoring his own discomfort Kid couldn't help but grin. "Seems like you're gonna be doing a whole lot of doctorin', Joshua." 

"Great, just what I've always wanted; my very own field hospital," came Heyes' snappy retort.

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Heyes tossed Kid's and the deputy's hats clear of the wreckage before emerging with Marshal Tiller's jacket, shirt and gun belt together with the LeMat pistol. All were covered in a layer of dirt. 

"Who'd a thought it would be so difficult to get clothes off a dead man," he said, breathlessly. "It sure is filling up fast in there, I had to dig for some of this. The marshal's more than half buried." 

"That'll save us doin' it." Kid Curry hated digging, especially graves. "What?" he asked as he caught a couple of disapproving looks from his companions. "I'm only sayin'."

As most of his past would attest, Heyes was not averse to stealing pretty much anything but he did draw the line at robbing the dead. However, under these circumstances they needed everything they could lay their hands on which might aid their survival. Needs must he had repeated like a mantra as he had forced himself back inside the stagecoach to retrieve what he could.

Heyes strapped on the gun belt then shook out the jacket, offering a small prayer of thanks as he picked up the box of matches which fell from a pocket, before draping it round his partner's shoulders. "Here, Kid, you'd better keep that shoulder warm."

"Keep your voice down," Curry hissed, tilting his head towards the deputy. "He'll hear you."

"Kid, I've spent two whole weeks insisting our names were Smith and Jones and nobody believed me, so we should probably let it go." Heyes turned to the lawman and smiled. "I think it's about time we introduced ourselves properly. I'm Hannibal Heyes and he's Kid Curry." Stony-faced, Kid raised his hand in greeting.

Deputy Mitchell regarded the two men with suspicion and hesitated for a second or two before shaking Heyes' outstretched hand. "I already know who you are. I'm Cornelius Mitchell, but folks call me Mitch."

"Okay, Mitch it is." Heyes couldn't help a wry chuckle. "Cornelius. Guess that's about as bad as Hannibal, huh?"

"Almost."

Heyes chose to ignore the slight. Scratching at his two-week-old growth of beard he tried to concentrate on what he should do next and the more he thought about it, the longer the list seemed to get. As always, his partner was first on that list.

"Hey Kid, do you think you can lie real still while I try and put that arm of yours right?" 

"Try and put it right?" Kid wasn't sure if he liked the sound of Heyes 'trying' anything. 

"I can remember what Lobo did," Heyes was quick to assure him. "It's just that, well... me and Hank held you down last time but I don't think Mitch is up to doing that with busted ribs." 

"Heyes, you've taken a slug or two outta me before and I never moved an inch. I'm sure I'll cope."

From boy to man Hannibal Heyes had nursed his cousin through everything from lung fevers to bullet wounds and, although he hated causing his cousin undue suffering, he had never avoided doing whatever was necessary to keep him alive or, as in this case, to save one of his limbs from permanent damage.

Pulling the large blue bandana from his hip pocket Heyes folded it into a triangle and tied the ends around Kid's neck to make a sling. He kicked some stones out of the way then helped his partner down onto the ground. 

"Okay, lie on your back and put both your feet against the rock. That'll go some way to help you stay still. Now, let me take hold of that arm." Sensing that Kid was hugging his arm against his body even tighter than before Heyes couldn't help but smirk at his cousin's hesitation. "You do know, you're gonna have to let go, don't you?"

"I know!" Kid Curry snapped before gritting his teeth and surrendering his arm so that his partner could manoeuvre it out straight and level with his shoulder. Despite his outward show of confidence, Heyes was hoping that he could remember exactly what Lobo had done as he gently placed his left foot into his partner's armpit and took hold of his wrist. 

His breathing quickening Kid turned his head and, fleetingly, Heyes had the disconcerting feeling that the pain-filled eyes had reached deep into his soul and could see the trepidation he felt at attempting this for the first time. Thankfully, Kid gave no indication that he doubted his cousin's ability. Heyes tried a reassuring smile. 

"Ready?"

Kid stared resolutely up at the sky. "Do it." 

The very instant the words were out of his partner's mouth Heyes braced his leg and pulled. An agonizing cry reverberated off the sides of the ravine followed by a clunk as the bone clicked back into its socket.   
Breathing heavily himself Heyes chose to ignore the increased pain in his own chest as he knelt up, placed his hand over the injured joint and tentatively moved the arm back and forth. Satisfied it was moving smoothly, he slipped it into the sling before tapping his unconscious partner's face for the second time that day.

Blue eyes opened slowly as he came to.

"It's done, Jed. Back in its rightful place." 

"Thanks," murmured Kid. Seconds later he rolled onto his side and retched. 

Heyes turned to the deputy. "Were we carrying water, Mitch? Any canteens?"

"The whip or Hegan might a had one, I suppose."

"Hmmm. I'd like to clean that wound of yours but I'd rather not use one of these muddy puddles." Heyes had been a little surprised to see only standing water and not a creek running through the ravine.

"Some stuff might've come loose when we rolled. I'll go take a look around," offered Kid, sitting up slowly. 

"I don't think that's a good idea. You could be a might unsteady."  
Kid Curry shot Heyes one of his looks. "You can stop clucking round me like an old mother hen now, Heyes."

"So long as you're sure."

"I'm sure. Anyways, I need somethin' to distract me. I also need some boots." Kid pointed at his filthy socks. "Won't get far in these."

"Now, how am I gonna gather firewood if you take these boots?" Heyes protested. 

"I'm sure you'll manage."

Hannibal Heyes narrowed his eyes at Kid then raised a quizzical eyebrow at the deputy. "How 'bout you let him have your boots for a while, Mitch? You're not using them right now."

"Well... I guess I could," Mitch deliberated. "So long as you be sure as to give 'em back, Mister Curry."

Kid nodded. "Sure thing. Oh, and Mitch... while you're of a mind to lend me your gear..." He pointed to the deputy's holster. "I need a gun and I'd rather use your Colt than that old relic Heyes is weighing his leg down with."

"Oh, no! I ain't givin' you my gun, uh-uh, no sir." Mitch's hand clasped his holster and he shook his head adamantly. "I'd have to be plumb crazy to hand my pistol over to a known gunman."

"Right now you'd be crazy not to." Heyes was mindful that, as his cousin was still in pain, his temper would be even shorter than usual and stood a good chance of flaring at any minute. "Who better to have a gun in backcountry like this than Kid Curry, the best shot you're ever likely to see."

"But, how do I know he won't shoot me dead, right here?"

"The Kid never killed anybody in his whole life," mollified Heyes, the lie tripping off his silver tongue with ease as he chose to conveniently forget about Danny Bilson, the man who had left them in the desert to die. "Neither of us shoot people. You must have heard that." Glancing down at his own thigh he couldn't resist the flicker of a smile. "And anyway, Mitch, in case you haven't noticed I'm already heeled. If we'd wanted you dead... don't you think I might have shot you the minute you crawled out of that coach?"


	3. Chapter 3

The burgeoning flames of the campfire were a welcome sight as Kid Curry picked his way between the scattered rocks to the makeshift camp where he dumped two canteens, a large carpetbag, and a familiar grey coat on the ground before carefully lowering himself down to sit beside the fire.

"Hey, that's my coat!" exclaimed Heyes, immediately donning the well worn garment. In his excitement he had failed to notice that the Kid was now wearing his own sheepskin jacket.

"Our coats must have been in the stage's boot along with this bag. I sure didn't notice anything on top when we got on board." Kid tossed one of the canteens to his partner. "Here. The water's fresh."

Heyes undid the cap and took a long drink then passed the canteen to Mitch who did likewise.

"Find anything else?" 

"A wheel and some of the traces. A couple of the horses were still attached. No rifles anywhere. The driver must be buried but I did find Hegan — what was left of him, anyways." Kid swallowed his revulsion at the memory of the gruesome remains he had encountered and cast a sorrowful glance toward the deputy at the loss of his colleague. "You'll be pleased to hear you can have your boots back, Mitch. They're givin' me blisters. I'm gonna try wearin' these." Kid held up a pair of blood-spattered boots from the open carpetbag.

Heyes instantly began to tug Mitch's boots from Kid's feet and replace them with Hegan's. "You got any food in that bag?" he asked, hopefully.

"Nope. But I got this." The blond gunman's face positively beamed as he reached into the carpetbag and pulled out his gun belt complete with Colt .45. "The marshal must have saved it as a memento or somethin'. Your old Schofield wasn't there, Heyes," he added. "Guess he didn't figure that was worth keepin'." Kid didn't even attempt to hide his amusement as he imparted this snippet of information about his partner's weapon of choice. 

Heyes scowled back at him. "Some folks really don't know a fine gun when they see one."

"Pfftt." Still smirking Kid wearily leaned back against a boulder. "Give me a few minutes to rest then I'll go bag us some supper."

"No, Kid, you've done enough. I'll go," said Heyes.

Kid pointed at the LeMat. "With that?" he asked, disapprovingly. "Huh, anything you hit will be spread all over the place. There won't be a scrap left for us to cook."

"I know that. Now that you've found it again I was kinda hoping I could use yours."

"Uh-uh, it's full of dirt. I'm only using it if I got no choice. You'll have to take Mitch's." 

"Well, that won't be a whole lot more reliable."

"Heyes, I'd rather a misfire damaged his Colt than mine." 

Hannibal Heyes nodded his understanding as Kid unbuckled the belt he was wearing and passed it to his partner who hastily swapped rigs. 

"Hey! You said you'd give that back!" protested Mitch. 

"Don't worry, you'll get it back," Heyes assured him. "Here, take the LeMat, Kid, in case you should need it. Won't be long."

Tilting the brim of his hat down low Kid Curry discreetly watched his partner's slightly unsteady, retreating figure until he eventually disappeared around a bend further down the ravine. He had not been keen on the idea of letting a still dizzy Heyes go off on his own but, like himself, the man could be downright mulish at times and Kid knew any protest he may have made would have fallen on deaf ears. 

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to relax his aching shoulder as he considered their situation. With both he and Heyes hurting, only one full canteen of water, no food or blankets, not to mention the possibility of misfiring weapons, they were certainly in a whole mess of trouble. Even more so, he concluded, than being in the Bonneville jail. There was also young Deputy Mitchell to consider and Kid began to doubt the wisdom of their promise to return the deputy's gun to him. Mitch appeared to be an amiable sort but he was still a sworn officer of the law and, if armed, Kid was in no doubt that he would find an opportunity to put them under arrest again. Heck, to claim the whole twenty thousand dollar reward for himself he didn't even need to turn them in alive.

At this distinctly unpleasant thought Kid sat up a little straighter and fixed his intense blue gaze on the young lawman.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

True to his word, upon his return Heyes handed Mitch his rig and the deputy could barely hide his disbelief at actually having the weapon returned to him by the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. However, before he had got within sight of the camp Heyes had made a point of divesting the deputy's gun of its remaining bullets and he hoped that after his bump on the head, Mitch would not be alert enough to think of checking the load.

The two skinny rabbits that Heyes had shot for their supper had barely enough meat on them to feed one person let alone three, but the men were nonetheless grateful for something hot and nourishing to eat. Now that darkness was almost upon them the temperature was dropping rapidly and, even though he had added a couple more pieces of wood to the fire, Heyes pulled up his collar and stuffed his hands deep into his coat pockets.

"I still can't understand why that sheriff didn't give us our coats when we left the jail," he griped, giving the deputy a hard stare.

"Marshal Tiller's orders," stated Mitch. "He didn't want you havin' the kinda sleeves you could hide anythin' in, Mister Heyes. He always wanted to be able to see your hands is what he told us. Said you couldn't be trusted. 'Real slippery' and 'larcenous' was the words he used."

Kid Curry relished the unfavourable but undeniably true description of his partner. "Sounds like the fella had you dead to rights, Heyes."

"Mmmm, except we've gone straight; haven't done any robbing in over a year." Brown eyes narrowed as he asked a little testily, "What else did the great Marshal Tiller say?"

Realizing he had probably said too much and not wanting to get on the wrong side of either outlaw the deputy hesitated.

"Aaw, don't mind him, Mitch. It's a well-known fact that Heyes has got real nimble fingers. Tell us what else he said," urged Kid, not making too much effort to hide his amusement.

Mitch swallowed hard. "Well... he said that... that we was to make sure you didn't get anywhere near a gun, Mister Curry. That you was real dangerous and if you even looked like making a try for any of our weapons we was to shoot first and ask questions later."

Kid nodded. "That figures. But, as Heyes already told you, we don't kill people, and 'people' includes lawmen."

"Yeah. The Kid might have a reputation for being dangerous," Heyes only just managed to keep a straight face while he explained, "but, it happens he's a real peaceable fella. He hardly ever draws that gun of his except to shoot at a can or a bottle. You really shouldn't believe even half the stories you hear about Kid Curry. Why, only a few months back he got whupped in a shooting contest — by a fourteen year old girl." 

"Now wait a minute—!"

At his cousin's indignant cry Heyes grinned, cheekily. "How's that arm of yours doing, Kid?" 

Frowning at the abrupt change of subject, Kid replied, "It's aching some, but I'll take aching over excruciating pain any day. I figure another day or two and I should be able to use it."

Heyes turned to Mitch. "You breathing any easier?"

"It's alright so long as I don't forget and take a deep breath." 

"Bet your head's still pounding," said Heyes, sympathetically. "I know mine is. More water might help, more than one canteen between us anyways. Let's hope we can find some in the morning."

Deputy Mitchell didn't quite know what to make of these two who he had been led to believe were very dangerous men. From the moment he had crawled out of the wreckage he had expected to feel the searing heat of a bullet seconds before he took his last breath, and he had been more than a little surprised when neither man had shown any inclination to shoot him. In fact, Hannibal Heyes had spent quite some time tending to the wound on his forehead before bandaging it up with a strip of material torn from the marshal's shirt. That was something he had not expected.

"Do you have any idea where we are right now, Mitch?" enquired Kid.

"'Fraid not. I don't come from these parts. I come from Laramie."

"So, what were you doing all the way out here?" Heyes was curious. "You couldn't have been after us. We'd have noticed if anyone was on our trail. We're always real careful to make sure we ain't spotted."

"Yeah, Heyes, just like we was real careful in Bonneville." 

Mitch paused for a moment but when Heyes chose to ignore his partner's sarcasm he continued, "No, we wasn't on your trail. There's this gang who've been holdin' up the stage between Bullwood and Capwax Falls taking the occasional mailbag and robbin' the passengers. They're only small time, not like you." 

Taking this as a compliment, the dark-haired half of the most successful outlaw partnership in the history of the West couldn't help but throw the blond-haired half a prideful glance, receiving a roll of blue eyes in response. 

"Well, the stage company never seemed to mind the occasional robbery too much until a few weeks' back the driver got himself killed when he refused to hand over the mailbag. That's when we was called in to track them down and arrest them. You see Capwax don't have a sheriff right now and the old fella over at Bullwood, he's only got a part-time deputy. Marshal Tiller had a mind to put out the word that the next stage from Bonneville to Bullwood would be carryin' a real valuable cargo, somethin' like gold or silver. He was sure the outlaw gang would take the bait."

Hannibal Heyes smiled wryly. "Outlaws usually do. Call it a character flaw."

"Me, Hagen and the Marshall were all gonna be on that stage, armed and ready. That is, until he happened to spot you two going into the saloon. I think he was real surprised how easy it was to arrest ya."

Kid Curry shook his head in disgust. "He wasn't the only one."

"It was because of that gang that he decided to hire a private coach rather than use the regular stage and risk it being held up with you two aboard. All I know is that we was on our way to Channing but we wasn't due there 'til sometime tomorrow evenin'. The marshal was figurin' on takin' the seven-thirty train north to Trinidad after that."

"Why Trinidad?"

"Oh, he didn't much like the idea of being on a train with two men in handcuffs. Felt it attracted the wrong sort of attention. He'd telegraphed the courthouse in Cheyenne and they were gonna have a marshal's wagon come out from the Territorial Prison and meet us at the Trinidad railroad station."

"A lot of folks are sure gonna be disappointed when we don't get off that train in Cheyenne," Heyes grinned.

"Yeah, and that means every lawman and bounty hunter will be high-tailin' it out this way now they know we're here," Kid reminded him. 

"True. I think we should keep as far away from the road as possible." Heyes nodded in the direction he had taken earlier. "The ravine looks like it widens out further down and with any luck, we may find a creek running into it."

"Y' know, that's the one thing I can't figure out." Kid scratched his dusty curls thoughtfully. "With all the rain we've had this past week, how come there's no water runnin' through here, unless..."

"What?"

"Unless there's been another rock fall upstream and the water's all dammed up, which means it could burst out any minute and sweep us away."

Heyes and Mitch both stared at Kid in dismay. "Sheesh, when did you get to be so dang cheerful?" asked Heyes.

"Well, it's a possibility, ain't it?"

"Yeah, it's a possibility, alright. I was thinking it — but I wasn't gonna say it!"

"Why not?"

"Because I want to get some sleep, that's why! And because, for some reason, saying it out loud makes it feel a whole lot more likely."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Despite the fatigue and discomfort Heyes and Curry took it in turns to stay awake throughout the night. Mitch had volunteered to take his turn on watch but in the end they had let him sleep the whole night through. Although they knew that Mitch probably needed them in order to survive, they still couldn't take the chance that he might shoot both of them in their sleep, bury them somewhere, and then turn their corpses in at a later date. 

A little before dawn Kid placed the last piece of wood on the dwindling fire and, noticing Heyes was beginning to stir, edged closer to his partner. 

"All's quiet."

"Good." Heyes yawned and blinked his tired, gritty eyes as he struggled to wake up. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Kid nodded toward Mitch.

"What we gonna do about him?"

"I don't see we can do anything else but take him with us. We can't just up and leave him out here on his own in his condition, that would be as bad as killing him ourselves."

"I guess."

"Kid, his ankle is twisted real bad. A mountain lion could easily pick him off. Heck, all three of us put together barely make one able-bodied person. We need to stick together... for now anyways."

"What if we run into someone and he tells them who we are? Like when Joe caught us."

Several months back, a bounty hunter named Joe Sims had ambushed Heyes and Curry a few miles outside the small town of Hartsville only to have his prized captives taken from him at gunpoint, firstly by three no-goods and then again by a rancher and his men. 

Heyes frowned at the memory but was unable to come up with an alternative solution. "Yeah, that thought occurred to me too. Somehow I don't think Mitch would reveal who we are like Joe did but I guess it's a risk we'll have to take."

"It's a risk alright, especially when I can't use my gun."

"Oh, yeah, that reminds me..." Grunting at a sharp pain across his chest as he sat up Heyes reached into the inner recesses of his jacket. He held up an object. "Look what I found in my pocket last night while you were sleeping. It's half full."

Kid snatched the small, round, thumb-press oil can from his grinning partner's fingers. Removing his arm from the sling around his neck, he pulled his own bandana from his pocket and quickly began disassembling his Colt, laying each piece on the clean cloth. If one thing was going to make Kid Curry forget the pain in his shoulder it was the compulsion to clean his gun.

"You got any more of that shirt you ripped up, or should I use your bandana for a rag?" he asked.

"No! Here." Hastily, Heyes dipped into another pocket and produced a scrap of cloth. He then leaned back and watched the familiar and strangely comforting sight of his partner meticulously cleaning and oiling all the working parts of his revolver before finishing off with a vigorous polish of the blue steel finish. 

"Better now?" he asked as Kid slowly and deliberately loaded five shiny, clean bullets into the cylinder.

"You bet."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

It took quite some time before the light of the new day penetrated the ravine but, as the morning progressed, the grey clouds started to break up and patches of blue sky became more prevalent. 

They were all in agreement that it was essential to move on and try and find some water, food and horses. However, before they broke camp Heyes insisted on unwinding the bandage from around Mitch's head to check the wound on his forehead. The skin around the seeping gash was now turning a livid shade of purple but there was no sign of infection. Mitch was pleased to hear this piece of news and he was even more pleased that Kid had returned his boots to him the night before. His injured ankle had swelled so much while he slept that the leather felt tight and he figured he probably would not have been able to put the boot on at all now. While this was a worrying development, on the plus side it did give his ankle some support although he was still unable to put his full weight on it. 

Despite their own injuries Heyes and the Kid took it in turns to help support Mitch as they negotiated the rough ground. Exactly as Heyes had described, the ravine did eventually open out, the sight of bushes and the odd tree giving them hope of soon finding water. By the time the sun was high overhead all three men were tired, hungry and very thirsty; the contents of the second canteen having been reduced to barely a mouthful each. 

A sharp rustling in the undergrowth caught their attention but before Heyes and Mitch could blink a shot rang out, a large jack rabbit lay dead, and Kid Curry was rolling his gun back into its holster. 

"Well, there's lunch," said Heyes with a smirk as he watched the gunman walk over to retrieve his prize. He glanced sideways at Mitch whose mouth was agape. "And, yes, you weren't seeing things. He is that fast." Heyes couldn't keep the hint of pride from his voice. "Even faster when the target has a mind to shoot back."

"I... I... never seen... anybody... draw a gun... like that," stuttered Mitch.

"He can do some real fancy tricks too. Did you know that gun of his can shoot two bullets at one time?"

"Two bullets? How does it do that?"

Heyes chuckled. "Ask him." 

Having once again borrowed Mitch's pocket knife Heyes cleaned the large rabbit and soon it was skewered on a stick and sizzling over a hastily assembled campfire, the appetizing aroma making their dry mouths water in anticipation.


	4. Chapter 4

Two horses, one bay and one black, picked their way instinctively along the familiar trail.

Calvin Snyder and Elroy Hutton leaned wearily on their saddle horns. They had planned on being back at the cabin well before now, but the torrential rain and the landslides blocking the road out of Channing had taken them miles out of their way and forced them to spend two uncomfortable nights out on the trail. 

Frank would be mad at them for taking so long.

"Sure glad we didn't bring the wagon," mumbled Elroy through his long droopy moustache for what must have been the tenth time that morning.

Running a hand across his freckled forehead Cal's pale blue eyes closed and he sighed inwardly. Elroy could really try his patience but for the most part he had learned to tolerate the man's peculiarities, unlike Frank who had a tendency to react each time he repeated himself. 

"That stage ain't gonna be runnin' any time soon."

This was now added to Cal's mental tally of things the older man had already said that morning, bringing the count for that particular utterance to seven. "Sure won't," he replied, hoping that a response might prevent yet another iteration.

"Y' know," Elroy ventured with a puzzled frown, "I can't figure why Frank would wanna hit a stage around these here parts."

Slightly shaken by this totally new remark Cal turned his attention from the ground between his horse's ears to his friend. "Me neither, but it ain't our place to do the figurin'. We just do what we're told. Safest way, remember?"

"Yeah but, ain't we more likely to get caught what with Channing bein' so close to the cabin?"

"It's a risk alright, but I'm sure Frank has his reasons. Maybe he's heard there's gonna be a special shipment comin' through. Gold, maybe?"

At the mention of gold a wide grin lit up Elroy's wrinkled, weather-beaten face before fading rapidly as he recalled the blocked trails that had forced their detour. He shook his head. "That stage ain't gonna be runnin' any time soon."

Cal gritted his teeth. Eight.

It was mid-morning by the time the two riders reached a fork in the trail where a small creek curved its way around a stand of trees before spilling out into the widening ravine. They had barely turned their horses onto the new trail when a single gunshot rang out.

"Where did that come from?" Elroy sat up straight in his saddle and looked around, nervously.

"Over there and it weren't far away." Cal's long, bony finger pointed to their left. 

"D' ya think it's the law?"

"Now what would the law be doin' all the way out here? They ain't lookin' for us — not today, anyways."

"Should we go look?"

"We'd better," said Cal as he dismounted. "Frank will pitch a fit if some stranger turns up at the cabin."

Having concealed their horses among the trees the two men made their way as quietly as possible up the ravine and it was not long before a breeze brought the enticing aroma of roast meat and the sound of voices along with it.

"How many do ya figure?" hissed Elroy.

"Sounds to me like there's three of 'em." Cal drew his old revolver and checked the load. It was then that a laugh, loud and throaty, made him stop in his tracks. 

"What?" Elroy wasn't sure how to read the expression on his friend's face. He wasn't very good at reading people at all. 

"I'm sure I've heard that laugh before. It was a while back but..."

They continued walking and after silently rounding a bend stopped within hailing distance of the strangers' camp. Cal had been correct, there were three of them and one appeared to have some kind of bandage around his head. Elroy shouldered his rifle in preparation for any trouble.

Cal stepped forward. "Don't make any sudden moves, gentlemen!" 

Kid Curry's hand was on its way to his holster but he heard the rifle being cocked just in time and raised it in the air instead. 

Alarmed, Mitch tried to get to his feet but without help his injured foot made it impossible, so he raised his hands high and hoped that would suffice.

Without thinking, Heyes whipped his still aching head round toward the voice thus making the world around him swing so violently that for a second or two he wasn't sure which way up he was. Struggling to maintain his balance he got to his feet and put his hands above his head while trying to get a good look at the approaching men. 

As they got closer he groaned, ducked his head and murmured, "Let me do the talking." 

"Well now, if it ain't Hannibal Heyes!" Cal leaned casually on one hip, tilted his stained flat-brimmed fedora away from his eyes and curled his lip in something resembling a smile. He levelled his gun at Heyes who, at that precise moment, was struggling with the fact that somebody else had got the drop on them. 

"Hey, Snyder. Long time, huh?" Heyes forced a smile which stopped short of his eyes. 

"Sure is."

"Wanna sit down and share this nice plump jack rabbit while we get reacquainted?" cajoled Heyes, wanting time to assess the likes of Calvin Snyder after all these years, not to mention his rough-looking friend.

Elroy peered hungrily over the sights of his rifle toward the makeshift spit spanning the fire. "Sure smells good, Cal."

"Hush up!"

Elroy readied his rifle once more. "I got 'em covered real good if ya wanna go get their shootin' irons."

Although the Kid did a reasonable job of hiding it Heyes could still feel him bristling with indignation at the thought of his precious Colt being taken from him again.

In actual fact Cal had no intention of taking their guns but he was enjoying having the great Hannibal Heyes at his mercy, if only for a few minutes. 

"So, which of yous is Kid Curry?" 

With his hands still high Heyes pointed a finger towards his scowling partner. He then jerked his thumb over his shoulder saying casually, "He's Mitch."

"Hoowee!" exclaimed Elroy. "Can't be too many folks still livin' taken Kid Curry's gun offa h—!"

"Talking of guns," said Heyes quickly, cutting Elroy off before he could gloat anymore and really rile the Kid. "Are you gonna point yours somewhere else anytime soon?"

"Tell us what you're doin' here and we might oblige ya." 

"We're not doing anything. We're only passing through."

"Is that right?" Cal's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I don't see no horses." 

"That's 'cause we don't have any... well, not anymore. You see, we got caught up in a landslide and took a tumble down the side of this ravine. Our horses were busted up so bad we didn't have no choice but to shoot 'em. When you think about it it's a miracle we're still alive." Heyes nodded towards his companions who, right on cue, nodded back in agreement.

"That gully washer sure caused a lotta landslides alright," agreed Cal, thoughtfully. "Where was you headed?"

"Hmmm?" Heyes stalled, his dizzy brain was not working quite as fast as usual.

"I said, 'where was you headed?'"

Aware that a good dose of the truth makes a lie all the more believable Heyes replied, "Channing."

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Elroy Hutton belched loudly and threw a well-gnawed bone into the dying embers of the fire. 

Heyes hadn't attempted to take even a morsel of food while he fought down his lingering nausea. Snyder and Hutton, on the other hand, had eaten a substantial amount of the meat between them. This meant that Kid Curry had not nearly had his fill of the rabbit that he had shot and having had a gun pulled on him yet again, was not in the best of tempers. He sat slowly rotating the cylinder of his Colt his eyes fixed on their unexpected dinner guests for the smallest sign of a threat. 

"Curry don't say much, do he?" Elroy ventured, oblivious to the enmity that the gunman was projecting.

Not giving his partner time to answer Kid mumbled morosely, "I save my breath for breathin'."

Cal laughed as he wiped his greasy fingers on his thighs thereby adding to the collection of questionable stains already there. "I s'pose Heyes does enough talkin' for both of yous, he always did have a wobblin' jaw." 

"How come you two know each other?" Mitch's curiosity had finally got the better of him to risk asking about something that his dark-haired companion appeared loath to acknowledge.

Heyes fixed Mitch with a hard stare before answering. "We both rode with the same bunch. Summer of seventy-three, I think." 

Cal nodded slowly, "Yeah, those sure was excitin' times. I don't know why you didn't stay longer, Heyes."

"Needed to move on, I guess."

"You've never said much about those days. Seventy-three? Must've been before we met up again on the Chisholm Trail," ventured Kid, his mood lifting, pleased after years of probing to be able to fill in some of the gaps in his partner's past. He holstered his gun. "Was it Plummer's gang?"

Desperately wanting to change the subject Heyes couldn't help but grimace when Cal blurted out, "Plummer? Naw. It was the James Gang."

At this revelation Mitch's eyes widened and Curry leaned forward attentively. "Really? Partners six years and you never told me you rode with Jesse James! I always figured you rode with Plummer first."

Heyes gave a feeble smile as he reluctantly met his partner's gaze. "Like Snyder says, it wasn't for long."

"And you went back to Kansas after we split up?" Kid was amazed. "Sheesh."

"Not Kansas, Kid. Missouri mostly, and Iowa," admitted Heyes. Kansas held too many painful childhood memories for both of them.

"Heyes joined us just before we started holdin' up the railroads," recalled Cal. "Jesse, well he was usually set on doin' things his own way but he kinda liked Heyes' ideas, 'specially when he came up with a way to derail a train. We got away with three thousand dollars that day. Not a lot compared to what them newspapers say you fellas stole."

For once the former train robber appeared abashed. "No, it wasn't. But, there was supposed to be seventy-five thousand in gold on that train."

"Tell 'em how ya did it," Cal urged.

Heyes shrugged dismissively. "Jesse's brother Frank and their partner Cole Younger were the ones who found out about the gold shipment; I only planned the derailing part of the job. 

"C'mon, Heyes, tell us," encouraged Kid. Heyes knew his partner would never let it rest until he knew the whole story and so concluded he might as well get it over with. 

"Well, the first thing we had to do was steal a spike-bar and a hammer from an old handcar house. Then, real early the next morning we set about loosening a couple of rails on a blind bend about a mile or so outside of town. Then we took out the spikes and waited. When the train hit that bend we jerked the rails outta place with some rope and the engine tipped right on over and landed in the ditch at the side of the track." 

Cal grinned. "It was some sight, sure 'nough!" 

"Then," Heyes continued, "all that was left to do was climb into the express car and open up the safe. I kept telling Frank and Jesse that I could open it real quick, but either they didn't trust me or were used to doing things different and so they pointed a gun in the guard's face until he opened it."

"I remember hearin' that some folks got hurt," Kid said, quietly.

"Yeah, a few of the passengers, but the engineer and the fireman... they died. I ain't proud of that." Heyes stared at his boots, the sorrow and regret he had felt that day still surprisingly raw.

Kid finally caught Heyes' eye, his own full of sympathy, for he knew the untold guilt his partner must have carried with him all these years. At last he understood why Heyes would never derail any of the trains they went after. Instead he would spend hours, long into the night, studying local maps and making calculations in order to ascertain the best time and place to block the track or blow up a bridge so that the train would have plenty of time to stop.

Silence descended on the group for a moment until Cal said, "Well now, I think y'all should come back to the cabin with us and rest up there a while. It's the least we could do — you bein' fellow outlaws an' all."

Unfortunately for Heyes he had spent a considerable amount of time in the company of lawmen, albeit not all of his own volition, and this made him very aware that Mitch's law-abiding principles might compel him to deny being an outlaw and so, before the young man could say a word, he shot him a withering look. Mitch's mouth remained firmly shut.

In their present circumstances Heyes could see no way of refusing the offer and after a quick mute consultation with his partner he said, "Well, that's real friendly, Snyder, thank you." 

Elroy looked dubiously at his friend. "You sure that's a good idea? Frank might not like it and y' know how he can get."

"Who's Frank?" asked Heyes.

"Frank Devlin," Cal replied reluctantly, silently vowing to deal with Elroy later. He had decided that it might be better if their leader's identity wasn't revealed until they reached the cabin. 

Hannibal Heyes was suddenly aware of an involuntary tightening in his gut and he guessed the Kid must be feeling the same. The Devlin brothers were small-time crooks in terms of money stolen but, if what they had heard was true, neither were averse to threatening or beating up anyone they came up against. By reputation Frank Devlin could be hot-headed but his younger brother was the one most inclined to gratuitous violence. 

Still hoping that the Frank Devlin they were talking about was someone entirely different, Heyes asked, "Devlin, you say? I seem to recall a Frank Devlin — he used to run with a fella with a funny name...uh...Toothy! Yeah, that was it."

Cal snorted. "Toothy? I'm guessin' you mean his brother, Shaun? Not anymore he don't. Shaun got himself killed robbin' a bank down in Texas. Seems like the law down there don't care if they get ya dead or alive, as long as they get ya. Frank's still real mad about it. He says sometime soon we're gonna go down there and kill that sonofabitch sheriff and his no-good deputy for what they did. So, I wouldn't go callin' him Toothy when Frank's around if I was you."

"Yeah, you'd hafta be plum loco to call him Toothy," Elroy chipped in with a crooked grin.

Heyes smothered a sigh. Frank Devlin was an ornery character and he was not looking forward to the possibility of the Kid facing off against him. "Is the cabin far?" he asked. "Mitch can't get along very good on his bad ankle."

"It ain't more'n a couple a hours walk. Anyways, our horses are back there by the creek. He can ride, if we can get him mounted up."

At the mention of water Hannibal Heyes brightened. "A creek! That's great news 'cause we sure are thirsty." 

While Cal and Elroy stamped out what remained of the campfire Heyes and Kid helped Mitch get to his feet. It was then that the sun made its first appearance in almost a week, peeking from behind a bank of cloud and flooding the ravine with warm sunlight. This would have been a welcome sight if it wasn't for the fact that the sudden brightness happened to find the edge of the tin star pinned to the deputy's vest and which luckily had remained hidden under his coat until now. The unexpected glint drew Heyes' eye and he cursed under his breath. Praying that Cal and Elroy hadn't seen it he made a big play of ensuring Mitch was balanced on his good foot, patting him reassuringly on the chest while skilfully palming the badge. Mitch was unaware that anything was amiss but the Kid shot Heyes a quizzical look whereupon his partner briefly opened his hand to reveal the offending article. Hesitating briefly as to whether or not he should slip the badge into his pocket, Heyes decided to drop it out of sight behind a large rock, thinking to himself if we get out of this in one piece and Mitch still wants to be a deputy, he'll have to get himself a new one. After all, there appeared to be an abundance of badges at every sheriff's office, if the number of deputies in the posses that had pursued them over the years was anything to go by.

"Let's get moving, we're already late," urged Cal.

"Should ha' brung the wagon," muttered Elroy. 

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Progress was slow and it was late afternoon by the time the cabin came into view. As they approached, Heyes cast an appraising eye over their surroundings. It was an ideal location for a hideout. The area was well secluded with several good places for lookouts to be posted and the wooden cabin, together with its small corral and barn, would stand little chance of being discovered by accident. 

Once he had drunk his fill at the creek Heyes found that his headache had at last had begun to ease and now that there was the possibility of having some creature comforts, no matter how basic, his spirits were starting to lift a little. He turned to flash his partner a smile only to notice that the Kid had removed the sling from around his neck, no doubt so that he would look fully fit when they came face to face with Frank Devlin. Heyes decided to save the smile for later once the exact nature of their welcome had been established. 

Once in the yard Cal and Elroy had just helped Mitch get down from behind Cal's saddle when the front door to the cabin opened, crashing back against the wall with a loud bang. The sudden noise spooked the tired horses and they began to prance nervously, but Elroy made surprisingly short work of getting them under control again before leading them over to the corral, glad to be escaping the expected backlash for their late return from town.

Frank Devlin stood in the doorway his face an ugly shade of red and his fists clenched almost white. He was a large, muscular man and, despite being middle-aged, wore his black hair long, almost touching his shoulders. 

"Where the hell have you been?!" he yelled through a mouth rimmed with tombstone teeth. "You should've been back here two days ago. If you've been wastin' time in a poker game Cal, I'll—"

"Hold on a dang minute," Cal replied, his own anger mounting. "I ain't been near no poker game! The road was blocked, and not just in one place neither. We had to go all the way over to Aurora Creek..." he gestured wildly to his right "... and double back from there, it was so bad. Two nights sleepin' out in wet mud, Frank. Two whole nights!"

During Cal's explanation the two ex-outlaws had exchanged uneasy glances prompting Heyes to turn as if to look over Mitch's shoulder, put his mouth as close to his ear as he dared and murmur, "Keep your mouth shut or we're all dead."

Only partially listening to what his fellow gang member had to say Frank's attention was drawn to the three strangers standing together in the yard. A large fat finger pointed in their direction. "And who the hell are they?!" 

"One of 'em happens to be an old compadre of mine." 

Filled with suspicion Frank's eyes narrowed. "You ain't got no compadres and I know none of em' standin' there is Jesse James," he said, sarcastically.

"No, one of 'em ain't Jesse James but one of 'em is Hannibal Heyes and that other fella over there, the one with the tied down persuader, he's Kid Curry," Cal announced loftily.

"Is that so?" Frank stepped down from the porch and slowly lumbered toward the group. "What y'all doin' in these here parts?" he glowered.

Mitch, who had his hand on Heyes' shoulder to aid his balance, felt the ex-outlaw leader stiffen under the man's hostile scrutiny. "Like I told Snyder," said Heyes, levelly. "We're only passing through."

"You're a mighty long ways from home. Passin' through, huh? Why?"

Trying his best to keep his tone light, Heyes answered, "Oh, Wyoming was getting a little crowded, what with most of the territory's lawmen on our tail, so we decided to get out for a while. Lay low somewhere."

"You'd better not be lookin' to start robbin' any banks around here. This here country is ours."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Heyes gave Frank his most sincere smile and, hoping he would not be too familiar with how far the Devil's Hole Gang had ranged over the years, especially when it came to robbing banks, lied easily. "Wyoming is a real big place. We've got all we can handle there, don't need to go anyplace else."

"They got caught up in one of them landslides, Frank. Found 'em back in the dry gulch. They're all hurtin', so I thought they could rest up here a while," explained Cal.

With a speed that belied his size Frank Devlin seized Cal's shirt front, pulling the shorter man up onto his toes. "Since when did you start making the decisions?" he growled. "I say who comes here and who don't. Get it?"

Cal nodded. "Sh..sure, Frank. I thought....seein' as they're on the same side of the law as us..."

"It sure would be good to get a shave, maybe even a bath," ventured Heyes, his tone persuasive. "We're all outta money but..."

Ignoring Heyes, Frank let go of Cal and jerked his head toward Mitch. "Who's he?" 

"He's one of our men." Kid took a single step forward as he spoke. "Who else would he be?" 

When there was no immediate answer from Frank he said levelly, "Look, Mister Devlin, if you ain't got a mind to be hospitable just say the word and we'll be on our way." 

Kid Curry couldn't abide being messed with at the best of times and his tolerance fast approached zero when he was tired, and even more importantly, hungry. Despite resting his hands on the buckle of his gun belt, now that it was no longer supported by the sling Kid's shoulder was aching incessantly and contributing to the shortening of his temper. Tired, hungry, and in pain could prove to be a lethal combination where the Kid was concerned and Heyes held his breath as they awaited Frank's decision.

Having stared at the Kid for what seemed like an age Frank suddenly turned on his heel and headed back toward the cabin muttering, "Y'all had better come inside."


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal Heyes tentatively tested the blade of the straight razor on a small area of his cheek before proceeding to scrape away two weeks growth of beard. He left his upper lip until last, taking a good long look in the cracked mirror before shaving it off. Not being partial to moustaches — facial hair of any kind for that matter — he had almost stood over his partner as he shaved in case he decided to sport one until they got out of this mess. Kid had done that very thing once before and Heyes had disliked the moustache so much he had sworn that if he ever grew one again he would personally pin him down and shave off the offending whiskers himself.

It appeared that Heyes' longed-for bath would have to wait until the following day. Cal was certain that they had a tub stowed away somewhere in the barn but couldn't say exactly where. The overpowering odour from Frank, Elroy and Cal being a testament to its absence.

While Heyes sat at the kitchen table tending to Mitch's head wound with some hot water and a rag the Kid momentarily put his own discomfort to one side in an attempt to remove the boot from the deputy's swollen ankle. After a few twists and tugs, prompting a yelp of pain from Mitch each time, Kid shook his head.

"It's no good, that's on real tight."

"Looks like there's only one thing for it, Kid — you're gonna have to cut it off," said Heyes. Amused at the deputy's alarmed expression he added, "The boot, Mitch, not your foot."

"Elroy was wearing a hunting knife. I'll go get it."

Mitch watched Kid close the door on his way out. Knowing that he and Heyes were now on their own in the cabin he said, "I don't know if I'm happy with Mister Curry sayin' I'm a member of the Devil's Hole Gang. Couldn't I have been someone you met on the road?"

Heyes' eyes hardened as he leant forward and keeping his voice low said, "You don't get it, do you, Mitch? The Kid saying you were one of us probably saved your life. If this bunch get even a hint that you're a lawman, well... I wouldn't like to say what might happen to you — to all of us. All I do know is, it wouldn't be pleasant and it wouldn't be quick. Understand?"

As he grasped Heyes' meaning Mitch paled. "I understand, Mister Heyes." Then, suddenly filled with panic he looked down at his vest expecting to see his badge. "Wha—?"

"I got rid of it." 

"But... how?"

"I'm a thief, Mitch. I stole it. Oh, and stop saying Mister, will you? All our boys call us Heyes and Kid."

The new member of the Devil's Hole Gang nodded.

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

The decision to allow Heyes, Curry, and Mitch to stay for a while was not sitting well with Frank Devlin. He was still pretty mad with Cal and Elroy for bringing them to the hideout in the first place and he could not quite dismiss the feeling that they weren't telling the whole truth about their situation. Leaving them to clean up Frank paced back and forth across the yard puffing on the remains of an old cigar while he thought about it some more. Eventually coming up with an idea he ground the stub under his boot and headed for the barn.

Looking about him the big man soon picked out Elroy amid a cloud of dust as he brushed down the two horses while they munched contentedly on some well-earned grain. Not wishing to get embroiled in some inane conversation with him, Frank quickly made his way over to one of the stalls from which came a flood of profanities as various pieces of rusting farming equipment were pushed and pulled in search of the cut-down puncheon barrel that could be used as a bathtub. 

"Cal!"

Frank's shout made Calvin Snyder jump and in so doing he snagged the back of his hand on a protruding nail. Cursing another blue streak he turned to face his boss.

"Hellfire, that hurts!" He sucked at the trickle of blood. "What can I do for ya, Frank?"

"How far from here did you say you found those three?"

"A few miles. I told ya, they was down in the dry gulch."

Frank scratched his chin pensively, the rough stubble reminding him to make sure Heyes returned his razor. "Where in the dry gulch?" he queried.

Cal shrugged. "Aaw hell, Frank, I dunno. It all looks the same to me."

"You didn't see where this landslide was supposed to have happened then?"

"Supposed to have happened?"

"Yeah, I got suspicions."

"Me and Elroy just brung 'em here. We didn't go lookin'. Sorry, Frank."

One of Frank Devlin's large, calloused hands found the middle of Cal's chest and pushed him back against the side of the stall. "You'll be sorry alright if they cause any trouble. I got a plan to hatch, remember?"

Unnerved, Cal nodded, "Sure, Frank. Me and Elroy we'd be happy to help anyway we can. All ya gotta do is say the word."

Frank narrowed his eyes, an idea occurring to him. "As it happens, there is somethin' you can do. Just you, I don't want Elroy having any part in this; he's likely to go yappin' to the others." Cal nodded again, he knew exactly how Elroy could be. "Tomorrow mornin', early, I want you to saddle my horse like you're gonna exercise her for me, and I want you to go take a look-see down that gulch. Find anythin' that don't ring true."

"Anythin' that don't ring true," Cal repeated. "Got it."

Frank smiled unpleasantly. Thrusting his hands into his pockets and without another word he turned and left. 

Cal took a moment to suck in several slow breaths before continuing his search for the tub.

Kid Curry strolled into the barn narrowly avoiding Frank Devlin as he strode past him with barely an acknowledgement.

"Frank's in somethin' of a hurry," remarked Kid as he joined Elroy who was now busy picking out hooves. 

"He's bin talkin' to Cal kinda low-like in that stall over there," said Elroy, straightening his back with a groan.

Hearing this Kid was immediately on his guard. "About somethin' important, I'll bet."

Elroy shrugged. "Dunno. Frank don't say much to me unless he's gripin'... or yellin'." He gave Kid an uneven gap-toothed grin. 

The gunman smiled back and guessing he would not glean any useful information got down to the business in hand, "I've come to see if I could borrow that huntin' knife of yours?"

"What fer?"

"Mitch's boot is stuck real tight — the one on his bad foot. I'm gonna have to cut the leather to get it off."

Pulling the large blade from the sheath on his belt Elroy tossed it expertly in his hand so that the hand-carved bone handle was facing outward. The Kid took the proffered knife and, having thumbed the edge and noted how sharp it was, asked, "You want me to clean it when I'm done? I've got some gun oil." 

Elroy shook his head and answered, "Naw, I'll do it later. I gotta sharpen it when I'm done here anyways." 

The blond head nodded appreciatively. Elroy obviously took good care of his knife just as Kid did his gun. 

It was not until much later that evening when they were bedding down in front of the stove on what smelled suspiciously like old horse blankets that Kid had the opportunity to tell Heyes what Elroy had said about Frank and Cal. 

Heyes had frowned at this piece of news then, after a moment's consideration, whispered, "It was probably something to do with a job they're planning, Kid. You know how cagey outlaws can be."

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

The following morning dawned with barely a cloud in the sky and the promise of a fine day ahead. The three had slept surprisingly well if you didn't count being disturbed just before daybreak as one of the outlaw gang picked their way clumsily through the assortment of arms and legs on the floor in order to get to the door.

After a breakfast of stale biscuits and greasy bacon Heyes was the first to step out onto the porch. Two weeks incarceration had left him with a greater than usual appreciation of the outdoors and, as he tilted his face toward the sun, he could not begin to imagine what twenty years locked away in a penitentiary would be like with few windows and limited access to a small exercise yard. If the Governor welched on the amnesty and they stayed on the run Heyes knew that, if he did eventually end up in prison, he would put his silver tongue to good use and talk his way into a job tending the vegetable garden. With a somewhat gloomy sigh he ran his hands through his hair but when his eyes fell upon a large, round, wooden tub next to the well he felt his spirits soar. Never far away, Curry appeared in the cabin doorway, squinting in the bright sunlight as his partner pointed toward the middle of the yard. 

"Looks like we can have that bath now," Heyes said, grinning widely.

"And wash our clothes," added Kid, with a smile of his own. "Don't know about you, but I feel as if I'm still carryin' half that landslide around with me. Our stuff will be dry by this afternoon if we spread it out in the sun."

It took most of the morning for Heyes and the Kid to heat the water, fill the tub, have their baths and wash their clothes. Despite being as dusty as the others Mitch had declined the offer. His morale was already at rock-bottom without the added indignity of being helped in and out of the tub. Instead, he sat on the single porch chair with his bandaged ankle resting on a rickety old stool while his new friends washed the dirt out of his shirt and henley for him.

Once the various items of clothing were hanging on the corral railings Heyes and the Kid sat on the cabin steps leaning back on their elbows with the cleanest of the horse blankets wrapped around their waists, drying off in the warm sunshine. Heyes opened one eye to catch the Kid staring at him.

Discomfited by his partner's uncharacteristic scrutiny he griped, "What? It's not like you ain't seen me naked before."

Kid shook his head and, blinking awkwardly, looked away from the purple blotches on Heyes' torso. "I didn't mean to stare at ya, it's just..."

"Yeah?"

"It's just that apart from that lump on your head I kinda thought that ...well, maybe you was exaggerating a little about how hurt you was." 

"Exaggerating!?"

Shamefaced at his admission Kid hung his head. "Sorry, Heyes, I know how bad my bruises feel and now I'm seeing yours..."

Heyes was about to launch into a lengthy diatribe about trusting your partner and believing what he said when an unfamiliar horse trotted into the yard with Cal in the saddle.

"Hey, Snyder, you missed a great breakfast," declared Heyes, sarcastically. "Thanks for finding the tub, by the way. That bath sure felt good."

Cal jumped off his mount letting the reins drop to the ground. "Where's Frank?" 

Heyes pointed back over his shoulder. "He's inside with El—." 

Stony-faced, Cal pushed past the two men and headed into the cabin leaving the ex-outlaws staring after him nonplussed.

Five minutes later they heard the door open again followed by the ominous clicks of guns being cocked.

"On yer feet!" 

Curry and Heyes exchanged a look that was both baffled and resigned before complying, turning to face a red-faced Frank Devlin.

"You too." 

His hands raised, Mitch hobbled over to stand with the others who only had one hand in the air, the other remained tightly grasping their respective horse blankets for modesty sake. 

"Get your hands in the air, now. Both of 'em!"

"Uh, I don't think these blankets will stay up unless we hold them, Frank. Anyway, you can see we're not armed. My rig is over there. So's the Kid's." Heyes nodded toward the hitching rail where two gun belts hung — unfortunately out of reach. 

Kid Curry clenched his jaw. Having guns pointed at him was becoming something of a habit these days and it was really trying his patience. "Wanna tell us what's going on?" 

"Get moving." Frank gestured toward the barn with his revolver. "Elroy, you get their clothes."

Once in the barn their clothes were dropped in a heap on the floor and they were instructed to get dressed. Despite the warmth of the day, putting on underclothes that were still slightly damp was not pleasant. 

"These clothes are still wet, Frank," grumbled Heyes. "Would you mind telling us why we've got to put them on?" 

"I didn't wanna shoot no naked men," Frank quipped, humourlessly.

"Shoot us! Why?"

"For lyin'."

Heyes put on his most incredulous expression. "Aaw c'mon, you'd shoot us for lyin? What would we have to lie about?"

"Lots a things. Like how y'all got to be down in that ravine for one."

"We got caught in a landslide!"

Frank Devlin shook his head "Y' know Heyes, that might be the only truth to have come outta that lying mouth a yours since you got here. You got caught in a landslide alright but ya wasn't on horseback."

"Well, you're dead wrong, we—" 

Frank didn't let the Kid finish. "Cal went out there this morning — lookin'. He found the landslide but he didn't find no saddle horses. Uh-uh, he found two sets of open shackles and a stagecoach with a half-buried lawman inside."

The two ex-outlaws exchanged a glance before Heyes chuckled dismissively. "Well, that just goes to show that Cal found the wrong spot. Can you imagine us taking a stage with a lawman? I sure can't. Anyway, what makes you think he was a lawman?"

"He was still wearin' a U.S. Marshal's badge," Cal confirmed.

"Unlike him," Frank jabbed an accusing finger at Mitch, "who tossed this the minute my boys found you." Reaching into his pocket he produced a silver star.

"That don't prove anything!"

"You can deny it all you want, Heyes, I still won't believe you. Cal found it right where this fella was sat." Frank now turned his glare on Kid Curry. "So, he ain't a member of your gang."

Not having wished to get caught with the badge on his person, or worse still having Mitch caught with it, Heyes had been sure that dropping it behind the rock was the right choice. He couldn't believe that Snyder had actually managed to find it.

Receiving a look from Heyes that said now say something Mitch finally found his voice. 

"Hey, I ain't no deputy!" he protested. "What would Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry be doing ridin' with me if I was the law? You're crazy! I'm an outlaw, like them — uh, you."

Frank appeared oblivious to the deputy's denial. "Get a rope," he growled. 

When nobody moved Frank yelled, "Elroy, I said, get a rope! And throw it over that beam." He pointed above the deputy's head. 

The moment the rope dangled ominously close to his ear Mitch's courage finally deserted him and he stammered, "Wha...what you gonna do with that?" 

Frank's face twisted into an ugly smile. "We're gonna have ourselves a little necktie party." 

With panic in his eyes Mitch looked over at Heyes and Curry and finally saw what he had most feared about his infamous companions — the hard-case outlaw within, calculating and dangerous. 

Without a gun in his hand Kid Curry could still exude an overwhelming air of menace and although his stance appeared relaxed every muscle and sinew in his body was primed and ready for a fight. This was pretty much what Mitch had expected to see from the gunman, but what scared him even more was the change in Hannibal Heyes. The man was still — very still. His unblinking, brown eyes had turned coal black and radiated an enmity so intense that even though they weren't focussed on him Mitch knew that, had he been at liberty to do so, he probably would have been tempted to turn and flee. 

"I wouldn't go doin' anything stupid if I were you, Frank," said Kid. "And lynchin' is real stupid."

"Lawmen are all killers. Paid killers. That makes him guilty in my book and hangin's what killers get."

Heyes at last took his eyes off Frank to glance briefly at his blond partner. The Kid's tendency toward hot-headedness had diminished as he got older but Heyes was still very much aware that his cousin's own sense of justice might make him do something stupid and risk getting them all killed. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he'd tried to stop a lynching.

Frank clicked his fingers. "Elroy, tie those two up. Hands and feet."

Elroy grabbed some saddle strings from a hook on one of the stalls and sauntered toward Kid who also took a step forward, menacingly.

Heyes murmured, "Kid, don't," at exactly the same time as Frank threatened, "You try anythin', Curry, and I'll be collectin' that ten thousand on your head — the easy way."

Grinding his teeth Kid drew in a sharp breath as Elroy pulled his arms behind his back and bound his hands tightly. Noticing the fine lines of pain appear around his partner's eyes Heyes hoped that having his arms like that wouldn't inflict any further damage on his shoulder. Pushing him to the floor Elroy tied his ankles then moved on to do the same to Heyes. 

Frank holstered his revolver and turned toward Mitch who, despite his bad ankle, managed to back away. He eyed the other two guns which were now aimed wholly at him and concluded that he would rather die quickly from a bullet than slowly at the end of a rope but, before he could attempt to make a dash for the barn door Frank seized him by the arm twisting it unnaturally behind his back.

"C'mon Frank, there's no need for any of this," Heyes wheedled. 

"What I do to a filthy lawman ain't no business of yours."

"It is when he ain't a lawman but is a friend of ours," confirmed Kid.

"Who wants to do the honours?" Frank turned his back on Heyes as he pushed Mitch toward the rope.

"Are ya really gonna string 'im up?" asked Elroy.

Frank glared at him. "What's the matter, you gettin' soft or somethin'?" 

"No. Just askin' is all." 

"Well 'cause you was just askin', you can tie the rope."

Mitch put up quite a struggle for a man with broken ribs but Frank was bigger and stronger and held him securely while Elroy tied a crude knot. Still holding his gun Cal grabbed the other end of the rope with his left hand, keeping it taut as Frank let go of Mitch's arm allowing the man to claw in vain at the cord around his neck. 

For a few seconds Heyes and Curry stared at each other engaging in a silent conversation, both trying to come up with a solution as to how to stop this but ultimately coming up empty. And so, in a somewhat uncharacteristic moment of foolhardiness Heyes yelled, "This won't bring Toothy back, y' know!"

Kid closed his eyes and groaned. 

"What's that?" Frank turned to stare at Heyes, his eyes wide.

"I said... uh... doing this won't bring Shaun back."

"No you didn't, you called him Toothy!"

Frank moved swiftly and his fist connected violently with Heyes' jaw. Toppling sideways Heyes gasped at the renewed pain as his already-bruised ribs hit the ground. He lay there trying to breathe with his mind racing, desperate to come up with a way to buy some time — preferably one which didn't involve him being beaten to a pulp. But, if it came to that then so be it; at least while Frank was busy beating on him he wasn't hoisting Mitch up to the rafters and a slow death. It would also give Kid more time to wrestle himself free from his bindings. Making sure to keep Frank's attention Heyes spat the taste of blood from his mouth before continuing. 

"I hear he was shot robbing a bank. Getting shot is one of the hazards of the job, Frank, you know that, especially when you happen to get caught red-handed in the middle of a heist. There's no feeling like it when everything goes real smooth but there are some days when you simply don't have no luck at all. Heck, it's happened to all of us — yes, even us!"

"Shut up, Heyes."

"Anyway, when you think about it, a lawman is only doing the job the town pays him to do. It's not a job I would choose mind, it doesn't pay nearly enough. Not enough to live the high life anyway and, as you've no doubt heard, the Devil's Hole Gang sure do love the high life. Plenty of good liquor and warm women just waiting to—"

"Shut up!"

"You see, if you're gonna rob a bank you've gotta take time planning it. That's the secret. Not go bludgeoning in without thinking it out first. Is that what happened, Frank? Did Shaun go bludgeoning in? Was that what got him killed? Or was he drunk?" Heyes managed a smile. "Oh, I bet he was drunk."

"I said, shut up!"

Frank took another step towards Heyes who, this time expecting a kick to the ribs, couldn't stop himself from flinching but instead large hands gripped him by the shoulders of his jacket and dragged him across the barn floor to where Mitch was standing.

As Heyes had suspected, Kid Curry being more a man of action than words, had been trying to free himself. Covertly twisting his hands within the tight strip of leather, so far all he had succeeded in doing was making his wrists bleed, but his efforts almost became frantic at Frank's next words.

"Looks like you've gone and got y'self an invitation to the party, Heyes. Elroy, get some more rope."


	6. Chapter 6

"Where's that dunderhead gotten to?" 

It had been quite some time since Elroy had left the barn in search of another length of rope and Frank Devlin was getting antsy.

"Maybe it's a sign that you shouldn't be doing this," ventured Heyes, airily. 

Frank drew his pistol. "It's a sign alright. A sign that I should forget about the hangin' and just shoot ya!"

"Drop those guns. Now!"

Five heads turned simultaneously toward the open barn door where six men now stood in silhouette against the bright sunlight, five holding shotguns and one doing his best to subdue a struggling Elroy. Unwilling to try their luck against that kind of firepower two revolvers clattered to the floor and Frank and Cal grudgingly raised their hands above their heads. 

The men quickly moved into the barn and Heyes couldn't help but grin when he recognized a middle-aged, overweight and slightly bow-legged figure. "Why if it isn't Sheriff Crowle! Howdy Sheriff! Perfect timing, by the way." He turned to Kid. "Never thought I'd be pleased to see a sheriff except Lom, of course."

"I guess there's a first time for everythin'," reasoned Kid, returning his partner's smile.

While Deputy Gibb handcuffed Frank and Cal, Mitch sank down to the floor with a thud as the Sheriff removed the rope from around his neck. "Thanks, Sheriff," he croaked. "Heyes is right, that was perfect timing. That villain was gonna kill all three of us, no doubt about it."

Sheriff Crowle noticed Mitch's injuries. "You look in bad shape, Deputy."

"I knew you was lyin'!" Frank Devlin spat.

Ignoring the outburst the Sheriff asked, "Do you think you can ride?"

"I can ride. Heyes patched me up pretty good."

Sheriff Crowle checked the bindings on Heyes' hands before freeing his ankles. He tutted at the sight of Kid's bloody wrists. "You're all cut up from struggling, Curry, but those knots still feel good and tight so you can stay like that 'til we get back to Bonneville."

Kid rolled his eyes at this news. Now that there was blood on it the leather would no doubt shrink when it dried and make them even tighter. Not that the ride back to jail would be particularly comfortable anyway with his shoulder aching. He wondered how Heyes would fare; he knew that his ribs had to be paining him again.

"Looks like you're gonna have another bruise to add to your collection," remarked Kid, noticing the developing mark on his cousin's face as they were shepherded outside at gunpoint.

"Yeah, he caught me good," Heyes answered, then poked at his bottom lip with his tongue while glaring over his shoulder at Frank.

Kid Curry leaned in and muttered, "Can you believe this, a posse rescuing us?"

"I know. But all it means is we're back to exactly where we were three days ago."

Kid shook his head. "Sheesh. You know, Heyes, we've had guns pulled on us so many times over the past few weeks it's startin' to make my head spin!"

Once they were lined up along the wall of the barn the sheriff, Deputy Gibb and two members of the posse kept their shotguns trained on them while the other men saddled up one of the two remaining horses in the barn and hitched the other to an old wagon. They then went a little way back down the track to fetch the posse's horses. 

Heyes cleared his throat, "Uh, Sheriff, do you think we could have our hats and coats this time? They're hanging behind the door inside the cabin." 

"You trying to distract me, Heyes? You'd better not be thinkin' of trying one of your tricks," the lawman said, suspiciously.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sheriff. Oh, and while you're in there, there's a loose floorboard over by the stove. You might want to look underneath it." Heyes smiled at the dark looks that the Devlin gang were giving him. "I have a hunch that's where these boys stashed their last haul."

"Adams," Sheriff Crowle addressed one of the other men, "go take a look, will ya. And bring out their gear or we're never gonna hear the end of it."

Minutes later Adams reappeared holding the hats and coats together with a large mailbag. "It was right where he said it would be, Sheriff."

Heyes tried not to look too smug.

"Put the bag in the wagon," instructed the Sheriff. "You and Gibb can turn it in to Sheriff Reese in Channing along with Devlin and his boys." 

"You'll pay for this Heyes. I'll track ya down and kill ya and that's a promise!" yelled Frank.

Sheriff Crowle levelled his shotgun at the angry man. "Pipe down, Devlin. You won't be goin' nowhere except to the gallows. And Heyes, you was lucky you was in my jail when that stage was robbed or I might've thought you and Curry had something to do with it." 

Before Heyes could start explaining, in his own inimitable fashion, how holding up a stagecoach was not worthy of his considerable talents and risk antagonizing the man with the shotgun, Kid said, "We've been going straight for more than a year now, Sheriff, and plan on keepin' it that way. Anyway, could you see Hannibal Heyes plannin' a robbery and not being there to introduce hisself?"

"I didn't always introduce myself." Heyes' indignant frown at his partner quickly turned to a smile. "Sometimes I introduced you instead."

Now that the horses and wagon were ready to go Heyes and Curry watched as the Devlin Gang were loaded into the wagon which set off as soon as Deputy Gibb and Adams were on board. Another member of the posse followed on horseback leading a spare horse.

"Okay you two. Time to mount up."

While Price manhandled Heyes onto one of the spare horses Mitch limped over to hold a gun on Kid while Moss helped boost him into his saddle. Kid wriggled into place then leaned forward so that Mitch could place his brown hat on his head. "Mitch," he whispered, "my gun's still hanging over there on the hitchin' rail. I don't like the idea of leavin' it. Thought maybe you'd like to have it. It's a good pistol."

"Thanks, Kid. I'll roll it up in my jacket at the back of my saddle so's it can be got real easy," Mitch murmured back.

Kid shot a questioning glance at Heyes who gave a small facial shrug back. Surely Mitch didn't think they might have a chance to escape? They both furtively tried their bindings once more only to confirm that they were much too secure even for well-practiced absconders such as they.

"Now listen you two," Sheriff Crowle said as he mounted up. "I'm not gonna tie your feet to your stirrups but any funny business and I'll tie you across those saddles, y' hear?"

"You won't get no trouble from me, Sheriff," assured Kid. 

"Me neither." 

"Good, let's move out."

Although Heyes was not relishing the idea of going back to jail he was temporarily resigned to it. There was one advantage however, which was that back in Bonneville they might get a chance to see a doctor. Heyes was anxious for the Kid to have his shoulder looked at and make sure he had realigned it correctly. As for himself, he probably needed his ribs strapped up. Hitting the ground as hard as he had when Frank struck him, he figured one was definitely cracked now. In spite of his genial outward demeanour he finally had to admit to himself that his chest hurt something fierce every time he took a breath.

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

As his horse plodded along Kid made a wager with himself — how long it would be before his partner enquired as to how the posse had found them. He estimated that they had been riding for about an hour before Heyes had finally piped up, "I've got a question, Sheriff. How come you came looking for us at the Devlin hideout?" Kid smiled to himself; Heyes never failed to disappoint him.

Before the former outlaw leader could be told to keep quiet Mitch added, "Yeah, I've been wondering about that too."

 

"Well now," Sheriff Crowle inhaled deeply as he considered where to start, "when that private stage you was in didn't arrive in Channing like it was supposed to Sheriff Reese figured you might've been caught up in one of them landslides or even attacked by that gang so he sent me a telegraph. He had to send it via Raglake because the telegraph line from Channing to Bonneville was down. I didn't get it 'til the followin' day. 

"Once we'd gathered a posse we followed the road 'til we found the spot where the stagecoach went over, but that was as far as we could go. The road is blocked for a good mile, I reckon. So's we could get down into that gulch and see if any of you were alive we had to double back around. That took some time. How you three survived that...." The Sheriff shook his head in amazement.

"We're a little surprised too," remarked Heyes.

"Anyway," continued Sheriff Crowle, "we were lookin' around for bodies and Moss here came upon some fresh tracks, couldn't have been more'n a couple of hours old. That kinda didn't sit right with me so we followed them. Led us straight to ya. When we saw Hutton comin' outta the barn we knew it was the Devlin bunch."

Kid Curry turned in his saddle as best he could. "Don't look like Frank was so clever after all, sending Cal out to prove you was lyin', Heyes."

"Lyin'? What was it this time? Your name again, Mister Smith?" asked the Sheriff, sarcastically.

Before Heyes could reply Mitch answered, "Heyes knew Devlin would kill me if he found out I was a deputy so he and Mister Curry claimed I was one of the Devil's Hole Gang. Devlin didn't believe them and sent Snyder out to take a look at the wreckage. Guess he didn't figure his tracks would be followed back to the cabin."

"But, why was he gonna kill you if they said you was an outlaw?"

"Snyder found my badge. To tell you the truth, after all that had happened, I'd forgotten I was wearing it."

"Aaw, you weren't thinking straight, Mitch," said Heyes, glibly. "Anyone could make a mistake with a nasty cut like that on their head."

At least half of what Mitch had said was true but Heyes still wished that he had got rid of the badge some other way. Mitch appeared determined to take the blame for almost getting himself lynched and the only reason that Heyes could come up with for him doing so was that if Sheriff Crowle knew Heyes had taken the badge, he might assume that he had some nefarious purpose in mind and had planted it where it could easily be found in order to blow Mitch's cover.

"Anyway," the Deputy continued, "Once Devlin knew that I was a lawman he was gonna hang me in revenge for some fella gettin' shot in a robbery." He looked to his left. "What did you call him, Heyes? Toothy?"

"He means Shaun Devlin, Sheriff."

The Sheriff's brow creased in thought. "Shaun Devlin, huh? Seem to recall a fella by that name was killed a while back down Texas way. Can't recall where, exactly. Bit of a foolhardy attempt on the bank from what I read. They was all drunk."

Heyes couldn't help but smirk.

It was past sundown by the time the six riders came to a halt outside the Bonneville sheriff's office. Due to the improved weather they had been blessed with daylight long into the evening which was something Sheriff Crowle was grateful for; knowing who he had in custody he had not been keen to spend a night out on the trail.

Heyes and Curry also found themselves to be unusually relieved at the sight of a sheriff's office but the ride had been long and uncomfortable; balancing on saddles with their hands tied behind them was hard work, especially on the hills, so strained leg muscles were now added to the growing list of body parts that hurt.

A small crowd began to gather to see who the posse had brought in, forcing the lawmen to pull the two former outlaws from their horses and quickly usher them into the jailhouse.

"You know where to go, Curry. Same cell as before," instructed the Sheriff. 

"Home, sweet home," Kid griped as the door was slammed shut behind him.

"In ya go." A firm hand on Heyes back pushed him into the cell he had not long ago vacated. "And I'll be taking that belt you're wearin'." Closing the metal door with a loud clang the Sheriff beckoned his prisoner to back up to the bars so he could untie him. Heyes shook his hands vigorously as pins and needles flooded through his wrists and down his fingers. 

Kid groaned as his tight bindings were removed and he made a tentative attempt at flexing his injured shoulder. Mitch hobbled down to the cell and frowned at the sight of Kid's wrists. Now that the pressure was off they had begun to ooze blood once more.

"I think the Doc might need to look at Mister Curry's wrists, Sheriff. And his shoulder. It was dislocated in the accident."

"Moss, go fetch Doc Lewis will ya," said the Sheriff. "I guess all three of you are in need some doctoring."

"And some food," called Kid. "We haven't eaten since this morning."

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Gun in hand, Sheriff Crowle leaned against the bars of an empty cell watching out for Doctor Lewis' safety as he treated the prisoners' injuries. 

The Doc tutted as he bandaged Kid's wrists. "He's cut up bad, Matt. Was it really necessary to tie him so tight?"

"Uh, some of that would be down to me, Doc. I was tryin' to get loose," Curry admitted. 

"I'll come and take another look in a couple of days to make sure you haven't developed an infection. Now, let's see that shoulder."

Kid removed his shirt and henley to reveal heavy bruising. Doctor Lewis felt around the joint and gently moved Kid's arm.

"Hmmm. It looks like it's slipped right back into place. You're very lucky. You can lose the use of your arm if it's not put back in a timely manner."

"Oh, it didn't go back on its own, Doc, my partner did it. He'd seen it done once and he kinda remembers things like that." Kid glanced over at Heyes who was watching from his cell.

"Well, like I said. You're very lucky."

Kid Curry smiled. "Yes, sir. I am."

Later that evening, after an unsatisfying supper of cold ham and day-old corn bread, Heyes and Kid lay on their cots in disgruntled silence. They both looked up as the office door opened to see Mitch hobble through, shutting it behind him.

"You fellas doin' okay?" he asked, picking up their empty plates and coffee cups.

"What do you think, Mitch?" replied Kid. "We're right back where we started. In jail."

"Yeah, that hurts a lot when you've tasted freedom again," added Heyes. 

"You want some more coffee?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Is there anything else I can get ya?"

Heyes pointed at the door. "The key to that lock." 

"Aaww now, you know I can't do that. I'm still a lawman, don't forget." Mitch looked apologetically at Heyes. 

Kid rolled off the thin mattress and stood, his fists wrapped around the bars. "Sure you are; but a lawman who just happened to tell a prisoner where he'd cached his six-gun." 

"Sshhh." Mitch glanced toward the door hoping that the sheriff hadn't heard. Turning back he gulped at the gunman's flinty stare. 

"Seems to me like you're not showing the right sort of gratitude, Mitch. My partner here tried to save your life." 

Heyes quickly vacated his cot and angled his bruised face as close to the bars as possible.

"Could have got hisself beat up real bad," added Kid.

Heyes nodded in agreement. "Not to mention the fact that Frank was ready to string me up too, and all because I tried to stop him hanging you."

Despite both prisoners being securely locked up Mitch was still a little nervous about upsetting either of them especially after the way they had looked after him. "Now look fellas, I can't..."

"So, the way I figure it, Mitch, you oughta be seein' your way to repayin' that good deed," pressed Curry.

"Oh, I counted two good deeds — at least." Heyes' brief smile got nowhere near his eyes.

"Uh...I...uh, gotta go now. Maybe see ya tomorrow." Mitch backed toward the office door before turning and walking out more calmly than he felt.

After a moment Kid looked questioningly over at Heyes. "Do you think that was enough?"

"Maybe. Guess we'll have to wait and see."

All through the following day Mitch failed to put in an appearance at the jailhouse giving the partners cause to consider whether their efforts had, indeed, been enough. When he was still absent the next day Heyes began to seriously doubt his judgement of human nature, particularly that of one Deputy Cornelius Mitchell.


	7. Chapter 7

Heyes and Curry's second incarceration in the Bonneville jail was proving to be just as mind-numbingly boring as the first.

On day three, the only thing of any interest was a late afternoon visit by Doctor Lewis who happened to be passing and decided to check out Kid's wrists and re-inspect both men's bruises which were turning a variety of spectacular colours. Satisfied that they were both healing as they should the doc left as quickly as he'd arrived.

Kid was still re-buttoning his shirt when Mitch backed his way through the open office door carrying a tray on which sat two bowls covered by a large red and white chequered napkin, together with a basket containing freshly baked biscuits. Turning carefully, he heeled the door shut behind him.

"Whatever you've got there smells real good," said Kid. He waited by his cell door, eagerly anticipating a vast improvement on the stale and tasteless leftovers that masqueraded as food at every meal. 

Heyes took an appreciative sniff of the contents of the bowl that Mitch passed underneath his cell door. "We missed you yesterday," he said, a touch of concern in his voice. "You been alright?"

"I been busy." 

"Busy cookin'?" Kid asked, juggling a spoonful of scalding hot stew around his mouth. 

"No, not me, but Lizzie has. She's the gal who owns the cafe. She treats me real nice every time I go in there so I asked her to cook up somethin' special for you two."

"Oh, it's special alright." Kid was savouring every mouthful.

"I know the grub in here ain't good, so... Oh, here." Mitch offered the basket up to the bars for each man to take a freshly baked biscuit. "Figured it's the least I could do."

Kid shot his cousin an apprehensive look.

"It is," agreed Heyes. "The least, I mean. And we appreciate the food. We really do. But, we were kinda hoping you might have had something else in mind — to show your appreciation."

"And he don't mean breakfast," muttered Kid before taking a large hungry bite out of his biscuit.

"Well, I have been busy thinkin'."

"Uh-huh, 'bout what?" asked Heyes.

"About what I want to do with my life. My Pa runs a general store and I know he was disappointed I didn't want to go into business with him. Now, after all that's happened I'm kinda torn. I don't know that bein' a lawman is the right line of work for me. I ain't cut out to be a deputy let alone a marshal." Mitch sidled up to the bars of Heyes' cell. "I've also been thinkin' about what you said the other day. I'm real grateful to the both of you for keepin' me alive, especially you Heyes, but..."

"But?!" Kid almost choked.

"Easy, Kid," Heyes soothed. He smiled faintly at Mitch. "You didn't mean to say 'but', did you Mitch? You meant to say, 'so'."

"So?" 

"Yeah, like in '...'so', what I'm gonna do for you is...'"

"Oh, I see. No, I was gonna say but I don't know what you need."

Heyes moved closer. "Need? For what?" he asked quietly, a glimmer of hope beginning to develop.

"To break out of here, of course. I can't just go handin' over the key but I may be able to get you somethin' that you could use."

"You can get your hands on some dynamite?" asked Heyes, optimistically.

"Pfftt, dynamite!" scoffed Mitch, the smile on his lips fading quickly under an intense stare from brown eyes. "No, no dynamite. Look, I know you can pick locks, Heyes, but can you pick one like this?" He pointed toward the cell door.

Closing his eyes for a moment the master safe-cracker took a steadying breath. "There you go with the 'but' again, Mitch. Of course I can pick one like this!" he hissed. "How do you think we've busted out of jail so many times?"

Mitch looked a little sheepish. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry, Heyes."

"Alright, now listen. All I need are two objects with a good point on them; it has to be two. Something like a pocket knife will do. Nothing too small and nothing too thick. Understand?" 

"Got it."

"And while you're makin' a list, Mitch, we'll be needin' some food and water, and a couple of horses — with saddles," added Kid. "And, don't forget my gun."

"Sure. I'll try my best."

"We know you will." Heyes' smile was a lot more friendly this time.

The whole of the next day saw the two former outlaws in a heightened state of suspense. Having caught part of a conversation between Sheriff Crowle and Gibb that morning regarding a prison wagon being on its way from Wyoming Heyes was restive, pacing the floor of his cell more than usual while, instead of sleeping Kid watched him, getting more tense by the hour. 

Breakfast and lunch passed without incident and when, at supper time, two bowls of stew arrived in the hands of Deputy Gibb, Heyes was beginning to conclude that they were both probably going to spend the next twenty years doing hard labour.

Regardless of his emotional state Kid Curry was always hungry so he ate the stew, but with a little less enthusiasm than last time. Heyes stared dejectedly at his food for a minute or two before aimlessly poking at it, but the instant his spoon made contact with something a little more solid than a piece of cooked meat his heart skipped a beat. Disregarding the scalding gravy Heyes plunged his fingers into the bowl and, after a surreptitious look over his shoulder toward the door, pulled out two six inch spiked iron nails which had been threaded through several chunks of meat so they wouldn't rattle in the bowl.

Kid immediately looked up at Heyes' hoarse whisper of, "Thank. You. Mitch," and both men grinned in jubilation as Heyes held up the nails before wiping off the gravy and stashing them safely under his pillow.

"Do you think he's got the horses too?" whispered Kid, the sparkle returning to his eyes.

Heyes shrugged and whispered, "Even if he hasn't, I think we should go tonight." 

"Sounds good to me."

The hands on Heyes' pocket watch indicated it was approaching midnight when a stone rattled the metal grille high on the wall of Kid's cell, followed closely by another. "Kid? Kid, you there?" came a hushed voice. 

Kid leaned against the adobe wall under the window and looking over at Heyes raised his hands in a helpless gesture of where else would I be? "Yeah, I'm here."

"Good. I'm leavin' a saddle bag out back of the wood store round the corner. It's got your gun and some money in it. The livery has a couple of horses for sale, one's a bald-faced black and the other's a buckskin. I figure you could leave some of the money for 'em."

When there was no immediate reply from Kid, Mitch prompted, "You won't go stealin' 'em, will you?"

Kid rolled his eyes. "We're bank and train robbers, Mitch. Not horse thieves."

"I'll be headin' out myself, tomorrow. I'm goin' back to Laramie."

"Well, we're goin' someplace else." 

"It was nice meetin' you fellas."

"Good luck, Mitch."

"You too."

 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

 

Hannibal Heyes gripped the cast-iron nails and carefully manipulated the lock on his cell door. He closed his eyes in concentration and to better picture the layout of the levers and pins inside. It was almost a year since he had picked a lock such as this and, like the lock itself, he was a tad rusty.

The mechanism released with a loud click and Heyes froze. Having waited none too patiently for the hour of two a.m. he hoped that whoever was on duty would have drifted off to sleep by now. Pausing he listened, his ears straining to hear any sound indicating movement in the office, and when he was satisfied that there was none he grabbed his hat and slowly swung the door open. 

Over at Kid Curry's cell he repeated the process. Now that he had done it once he had this lock open a lot faster then, with Kid close behind, he made his way to the office door and pressed his ear to it. Heyes never missed much and had observed that when Deputy Gibb was on duty this door was not always kept locked. Certain that there had been no rattle of a key after Gibb had been in to collect their supper bowls tonight he took hold of the doorknob and gently began to turn it. Feeling no resistance he nodded and they burst into the front office thereby taking a dozing Deputy Gibb completely off guard. 

Before the startled man could even rise from his chair Kid had his arm twisted behind his back with one hand and his mouth covered with the other. Heyes quickly searched the man's pockets pulling out a bandana which he used to gag the struggling deputy. Then, while his partner still held him securely, he grabbed a set of handcuffs from the top drawer of the desk and snapped them around Gibb's wrists. 

Picking up the large ring of keys Curry pushed the deputy through to the cells and locked him in. Meanwhile, Heyes plucked their coats from a line of pegs on the wall then turned his attention to an old safe in the corner. By the time the Kid joined him he already had two of the three number combination and the third tumbler dropped into place just as easily. Once inside, Heyes found exactly what he had hoped for — his Schofield revolver. He held it out to his partner. The gunman waved away the offer of the firearm; he would rather wait until he got his hands on his own Colt. 

Using the tip of his gun barrel Heyes moved the window shade to one side, checking for movement outside before opening the front door to peer up and down the dark street. All was quiet. Grateful for a cloudless sky affording them a trace of starlight they shut the door behind them and jogged around the side of the building to find the wood store Mitch had told them about. True to his word the saddle bag plus two full canteens were there pushed securely behind the logs. Kid snatched them up and they ran through the darkness of the back alley to the livery stable.

While Heyes picked the padlock on the barn door Kid opened the saddle bag and pulled out his gun. He saw Mitch had thoughtfully refilled the empty bullet loops on the belt and smiling he quickly strapped it on. The deputy had also left them a few dollars short of one hundred so they placed seventy for the horses and gear on an upturned bucket, figuring it to be a fair price, and pocketed the rest as a small stake to get them started again. 

Pointing their mounts' noses toward the shortest way out of town the two escapees immediately urged the animals into a flat-out gallop. Despite the darkness they rode across country, maintaining this pace for some considerable time until the animals began to labour and they felt they had put a good distance between themselves and Bonneville. 

Slowing to a walk Kid patted his horse's sweaty neck. "Okay, Heyes, which way?" 

Heyes looked up at the stars to get a bearing. "How about west?" he asked, reining his horse around.

"Just west?"

"I mean as-far-west-as-we-can-go west. Maybe visit old Soapy in San Francisco and heal up a little. Have ourselves a vacation."

"Good idea. I don't know about you, but I'm plumb worn out."

Hannibal Heyes couldn't help but chuckle at the serious look on Kid Curry's face to which he replied, "Me too. Who'd have thought a spell in jail would be such hard work?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the 21st July 1873 the James-Younger Gang staged the first robbery of a moving train on the Rock Island Line outside Adair, Iowa in pretty much the way Heyes describes it.


End file.
